


Marked

by keelhaulrose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 54,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25247035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelhaulrose/pseuds/keelhaulrose
Summary: A spell leaves Hermione, Sam, and Dean marked as each other's soulmates and bound to each other. They must work together to break their bind, but wishing for it does not mean it'll be easy to do so. As they work together they discover that they have more in common than it seems, and realize that even if they break their bind it does not mean they are not attached to each other, and that they are not soulmates by chance.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Dean Winchester, Hermione Granger/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Hermione Granger/Sam Winchester
Comments: 35
Kudos: 144
Collections: Hermione Granger's Big Bang 2020, Hermione's Haven Bingo 2020





	1. The Spell

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Hermione's Haven #BigBang2020 event. It is over 50K words and fully complete, so it will be updated regularly.
> 
> Thanks a million times over to my wonderful beta, Jocelyn, for putting up with this insanity. You made it so much better, and I cannot thank you enough.

Rowena scowled as she tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the expensive marble fireplace. She was in a bind. She had some... former  _ associates _ ... she needed to deal with, but the Winchesters currently occupied the bunker that held the spell books that could prove quite useful in her quest. What she needed was for them to invite her in, then vacate the premises for a while, just long enough for her to get the spells she needed and be on her way. Really, the spells weren't all that harmful per se. Most reasonable people might be convinced to just allow her access to the book, but those boys were never the reasonable sort. So she would have to get them out of the way for just a little while... and be careful not to take anything that might be missed. But how to get them to invite her in, then leave?

Sighing she hoisted an old spell book out of her bag. The thing was ragged, written centuries ago by a madwoman with marginal magical skill and a serious case of infatuation with a man. Maybe if she could find a couple of good-looking women to put on a ruse, perhaps playing young Hunters themselves who had brought her to them for verification… Well, Dean was always one to be distracted by a pretty face. But Sam wasn't, though the thought of two young Hunters able to capture a witch whose son was the King of Hell and bring her to the bunker? Even Sam Winchester could be distracted, and some brains and some good-sized bosoms might help keep his interest long enough for her to slip something into his drink that would keep his curiosity away from her.

As she flipped through the pages rejecting spell after spell she started to think things might be hopeless... until she came to one in the back. A smile came across her face, growing wider with each of the three times she read through the spell. Oh, it was simple enough; it wouldn't take her more than a day or two to gather the artifacts needed. And it was so appealing in its simplicity. She wouldn't even need to be near Sam and Dean to cast the spell, just have something of theirs... not that she kept a lock of Sam's hair and some of Dean's blood on a cloth for any particular reason. It was merely protection in case their attention shifted back towards her, and not in a good light. She couldn't help but chuckle. It was almost going to be  _ too _ easy. There was a chance it wouldn't work, but deep down she knew that if the spell worked for  _ anyone _ it would be those two boys.

After all, what better way to get Sam and Dean Winchester out of the way than to send them hunting, though this time for their soulmates?

XXXXXXX

“Good morning, well, afternoon,” Sam smiled as Dean entered the kitchen.

Dean mumbled something that was probably a few choice words his brother didn't care to hear repeated.

“Aren't you energetic today?” Sam rolled his eyes. His brother had stayed at a nearby bar until close, trying to get the attention of the gorgeous bartender, but she had rebuffed him as the night ended... and after his wallet was pretty much dry. As they had just gotten home from a hunt and he hadn't been able to get a little physical satisfaction, Dean had stayed up until five in the morning drinking, perusing the internet for porn, and generally making a pest of himself, but luckily he had slept until three thirty that afternoon, giving Sam some precious quiet time.

Dean shot him a look but didn't say anything as he poured himself a cup of coffee and dropped hard into the chair opposite Sam. 

“Got anything?” he asked, and Sam could hear the desire to let off his frustration from the night before by going out and shooting something, anything. 

“All quiet on pretty much all fronts,” he replied, shaking his head. “I thought there was something in upstate New York but...”

They hissed in unison as their left forearms started to burn simultaneously. Sam ground his teeth and Dean let off a string of curses as they both pulled off their flannel shirts, desperate to see what was burning, but as quickly as it started it was over. 

“What the hell was that?” Dean demanded.

“I don't know,” Sam muttered in reply, looking at his forearm. He scowled, there was writing there, kind of faint at first but growing more visible until, after a couple seconds, he could read it clearly. It looked like a scar, but when he ran his finger over it his skin was still as smooth as ever, and it was too faded to be a real scar. He looked up at his brother, whose face mirrored his own as he read the word now etched onto his arm.

“What the hell is a mudblood?” Dean asked.

XXXXXXX

“Oh, thank Merlin you're home,” Hermione smiled as Harry and Ginny came walking in the door of their house in Godric's Hollow. She was cradling little Lily in her arms, James and Albus asleep on the floor by her feet.

“Did they give you any trouble?” Harry asked.

“Oh, you know they did,” Hermione replied. “But I fixed the clock and the table, though the cat might have a bald spot for a while.”

“I'm sorry, they're going through a phase...”

“Don't worry about it,” she chuckled as she stood and handed Lily off to him. “You know I can handle them.”

“You always were good at handling a couple out-of-control gents,” Ginny chuckled, picking Albus up. “Must have been all that practice at Hogwarts.”

“Hey...” Harry smiled.

“It really was no problem,” Hermione assured them. “They really are angelic, at least when they fall asleep. How was the show?”

“Brilliant,” Harry nodded. “Thank you so much for watching them.”

“Anytime,” she smiled, gathering her things. 

“Will I see you for dinner on Sunday at the Burrow?”

“I wouldn't dare-” she stopped, hissing in pain and pressing a hand to her chest above her heart.

“Hermione?” Harry and Ginny asked in concern.

She screwed her face up and took a few deep breaths, but the pain quickly eased, though she could feel something off about her chest. Without thinking about her audience she unfastened the top buttons of her blouse and pulled it open, exposing the skin that had burned hot a moment before. There was something there, something that seemed burned into her skin, fuzzy at first but quickly taking shape. In seconds she could see what looked like a faint tattoo of a pentagram surrounded by a circle of flames sitting right above her heart. Scowling she ran a finger over it, but it was flush with her skin, like it had been there forever.

“What the hell is that?” Harry asked, brow furrowed as he studied the symbol.

“I... I don't know,” Hermione replied.

“I think I do,” Ginny said softly, pushing past Harry to examine the symbol. “Hermione, I think that's a soulmate mark.”

“A  _ what _ ?” Hermione and Harry asked in unison.

“I don't remember all of it, just bits and pieces, but I do remember Romilda Vane and her friends talking about it one day in the common room. It was some kind of ancient spell, but, not like something done at Hogwarts. You gather up a few things, including a bit of blood or hair or something from the person who is looking for their soulmate, and once you cast the spell marks will appear on the person looking and their soulmate.”

“So, this symbol means I have a soulmate?” Hermione asked skeptically.

“Yes and no. If Romilda wasn't a complete idiot it means you do have a soulmate and that your soulmate has that symbol in the same place on their body. But the symbol is connected to your soulmate, not the charm. You got it because it is unique to them, something that would make them stand out from everybody else.”

“And you said it works both ways? My soulmate has something that is unique to me on them?”

“That's how it's supposed to work, yes,” she nodded.

Hermione's hand instinctively rubbed the 'mudblood' scars Bellatrix had left on her, and for a moment she hoped her soulmate wasn't burdened with them, but that feeling quickly vanished in her anger. “So some bloke somewhere cast a spell and suddenly I have a soulmate?”

“Technically you always had them, you just didn't have a way to find each other. And, also, the bloke might not have done the casting. Anyone with a bit of his hair or blood or something would be able to cast the spell. He might not even know.”

“Oh, so that's helpful,” she sighed. “He might not even know why he suddenly has a mark on him, and it's not like he's going to put an advert in the  _ Prophet _ asking for the woman with the mysterious mark on her to come forward. How am I supposed to find him?”

“I'm not sure,” she shrugged. “But I think I might know who may have seen that symbol before. Let me get this one to bed, and we're going to go visit my brother.”

Fifteen minutes later they stepped out of the Floo onto the floor of Shell Cottage, where a very irritated looking Bill Weasley was standing in his pajamas, arms crossed.

“Keep it down,” he muttered as they arrived. “What is so urgent it couldn't wait until morning?”

“Hermione has found herself with some new body art, and I thought if anyone might have seen the symbol before it might be a curse-breaker.”

“Went and tattooed some strange symbol on yourself, Granger?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Not exactly,” Hermione said, pulling her blouse to the side and exposing the symbol.

Bill immediately stood up and came over to examine it, eyes going wide. 

“You know what it is?” she asked hopefully.

“That is an anti-possession symbol,” Bill murmured.

“A  _ what _ ?”

“Anti-possession. People use these to make sure a demon can't enter their body. It's old and has fallen out of use, but from what I hear, effective.”

“Why would my soulmate have an anti-possession symbol on them?” she asked.

“I only know of one group who still uses them,” Bill replied softly. “Hunters.”

“Hunters?” she replied in disbelief. “My soulmate is a Hunter?”

“There's a good chance of it,” he nodded.

“What is a Hunter?” Ginny asked.

“Hunters are Muggles who go around killing supernatural creatures: werewolves, vampires, ghosts, those sort of things,” Hermione explained. 

“I've come across a couple when something really foul gets unleashed from a tomb. Usually we have to Obliviate them or they'll come after us,” Bill added.

“So they kill witches?” Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“Not our kind,” he answered. “The ones who make pacts with demons to get their power. The Ministries of Magic around the world make sure Hunters stay well away from our kind of witches and wizards. It wouldn't do for them to figure out about our world.”

“Great. So, Hermione's soulmate is a bloke who kills things like Hermione, and this magic probably came from a witch dealing with a demon. Wonderful. You really have no luck at all,” she patted Hermione's shoulder.

“I guess I'm just going to have to ignore it,” Hermione shrugged. “At least I can cover the mark up...”

“I don't know if that's going to work,” Ginny replied. “I don't know how much of this was Romilda talking, but she mentioned that once the spell is cast something happens, and the short of it is that your soulmate is the only one who can... satisfy you.”

Hermione and Bill wore identical looks of surprise. 

“I don't know if that's true,” she quickly added.

“And my only way to find out is to try to shag a random bloke and see if, what, it's unsatisfying?”

“I have an idea of who might be able to help you find this bloke,” Bill said softly. “But you're not going to like it.”

XXXXXXX

Dean growled and threw the book he had been looking at across the room. “Unbelievable!” he shouted. “That damn book had pretty much every random mark that could be put on someone and it doesn't have a single word about something just appearing like this!”

“Mudblood doesn't seem to mean anything to anyone, either,” Sam replied softly, tapping a finger absentmindedly on a key on his computer. “I don't know what to think here.”

“Well, we gotta think of something, because this obviously means something to someone. Words don't just magically appear...”

“Maybe they do,” Sam interrupted.

“What?” Dean asked, agitated.

“It might be a spell or something. Something someone cast on us.”

“Great, so now we have to look through all the spell books looking for the one that might write the word 'mudblood' on our arms?”

“The problem is a lot of spells can leave a mark. I'm not sure if we can differentiate what spell made these, but we know someone who might. You're not gonna like it, though.”

“Who?”

“A witch. Rowena.”

“No friggin' way,” Dean shook his head. “No friggin' way I'm having that witch come in here.”

“She might be able to tell us what spell this is,” Sam protested.

“I'm not that desperate.”

“Are you not?” he raised an eyebrow. “For all we know this spell could mean our blood is turning to mud inside us right now.”

Dean scowled. “Fine,” he snapped, standing and walking towards the kitchen to get a beer without another word.

Sam sighed and pulled out his phone. 

XXXXXXX

Rowena straightened her dress as she approached the bunker and carefully set her face to hide the smirk she had been wearing for the past few hours since she had gotten the call from Sam. Things were looking up for her. She had cast the spell perfectly and had just finished putting a few more pieces in place when she got the call from Sam. She acted surprised to hear from him, put him off a little until he was practically begging for help, then let him stew for a few more hours before arriving at the bunker. She knocked loudly and looked down, allowing herself one more triumphant smile before Sam opened the door.

“Good evening, Samuel,” she smiled as she let herself in past him. “Or is it a good evening? How are you feeling?”

Sam raised an eyebrow, suspicious of her concern, and she chastised herself as she turned and walked down the stairs. “We feel fine,” Sam replied shortly. “We just want to know what these marks on our arms mean.”

“Oh, you both got one, then?” she turned, raising an eyebrow.

“Cut the crap,” Dean's voice preceded him into the room, a bottle of beer firmly planted in one hand. “I know Sam told you we both had them.”

“If you're going to be rude I don't have to help,” she replied in a singsong voice, dropping her bag onto one of the tables. “Let me see the marks, then, gentlemen,” she added, turning back towards the brothers.

She always found it somewhat comical the way the boys would do things in unison, though in different ways. Dean roughly pushed his sleeve up and out of the way while Sam folded his sleeve over itself, but they still held out of their left forearms in sync with each other. She stepped forward and after a cursory glance at the marks her heart jumped in excitement. Oh, this had turned out so much better than she had planned. She ran her fingers over each of the marks, pretending to study them, but in fact just double checking to make sure... oh, this was too good. There was no deity high enough to thank for this brilliant stroke of luck. She let her hair fall over her shoulder to hide the giddy smile she couldn't hold back before carefully affixing a look of concern on her face before looking up at them.

“These are soulmate marks, boys,” she announced.

“Soulmate marks?” the asked in unison.

“Aye, it's an old and rare bit of magic,” she said, stepping back and relishing in the looks on their faces. “You see, boys, your soulmate has the same mark in the same place on her left forearm.”

“So there are a couple of girls out there with the same word written on their arms?” Sam looked confused.

“You didn't hear me properly, did you, Giant?” she smiled. “Look at your marks. They're identical. And they look like a scar, so your soulmate has that word carved into her skin. Very hard to make identical marks with a knife. Impossible, really.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean demanded.

“You two have the same soulmate,” she announced. 

Oh, if only she had a camera to immortalize the looks on their faces. Gobsmacked was too gentle a word. After everything these two men had witnessed, after both seeing literal Heaven and Hell on Earth, the idea of 'same soulmate' looked just too much to bear in that moment. It was like bloody Christmas. 

“The same soulmate,” Dean repeated thickly.

“Oh, good! You can listen!” she indulged in a smile. 

Sam finally seemed to recover from the shock. “Okay, so if we do have a soulmate, even if we share one, that's all this means?”

“Aye. Just one simple little mark that connects you forever with some wee lass somewhere,” she replied in an overly sweet voice.

“If that's all it is, then we don't have to do anything,” he shrugged.

Rowena felt her face tighten. “What?” she asked, her voice a little higher than usual. She glanced at Dean who, to her dismay, actually seemed to be thinking the same thing as his brother.

“If we don't go looking for our soulmate then there's no way some poor girl gets pulled into all this,” Sam replied. “We keep going, she keeps going, hopefully our paths will never cross, and she doesn't have to deal with everything we do.”

“It's not that simple!” she snapped. “The girl gets marked as well,” she added.

“So some poor chick just had part of her body burn and a couple random marks appear on her?” Dean snapped.

“Aye. A soulmate marking spell works both ways. So there's no guarantee that she's not going to try to come find you.”

“Dammit,” he grumbled. “But we move around a lot. Maybe she just won't ever find us.”

“Well, you wouldn't be wanting that,” Rowena said coyly. “There's one more little bit of information I haven't told you.”

“Yeah, what's that?”

“Once your soulmate has been marked, once the spell to connect them has been performed, that is the only person you'll ever find  _ pleasure _ in again.”

The boys both blanched. Now  _ that _ should have been her lead. Sam might be able to control his urges given a circumstance, but everyone in the room knew that Dean Winchester wasn't going to go the rest of his life without sex. The prospect might even be too much for Sam.

“Is there a way to undo it?” Dean asked.

“I could look around here,” she said, motioning towards some of the spell books. “There might be a spell to undo it, but we would need her here.”

“Wait a minute,” he growled, a thought finally coming to him. “How do we know this chick isn't the one who cast the spell? How do we know it's not some witch trying to fuck with us?”

“You can't target someone as your soulmate, let alone two someones,” she replied crossly. “And most people aren't daft enough to try a spell like that when there are some that are so much easier that will bring you to your soulmate. As I said, this is old magic. It fell out of fashion long ago. If this girl were a witch, and if she was trying to find her soulmate, I would think she'd go for something a little more modern and a little less disfiguring?”

“So someone else did this?”

“Aye, someone who thought either you boys could use a soulmate, or perhaps it's someone who thinks she could. You're going to have to find her if you want to figure out how it happened.”

“Is there any way to find out who our soulmate is?” Sam asked.

She felt herself relax as her plan started to get back on track. “Yes,” she replied. “You will need a hagstone.”

“A what?”

“Hagstone,” she repeated. “A stone with a hole in it. Any will do, as long as the hole is natural, not man-made, as so many you find on the internet are.”

“So we've gotta go find a goddamn rock?” Dean muttered.

“Yes,” she nodded. “You could go scouring the creek beds looking for one. Or there's a psychic in Wichita who has one. If you tell her I sent you she'll give it to you. Owes me a favor, that one. I got her out of a mess with a demon some time ago, and decided to hold onto the favor for an occasion such as this.” She smiled sweetly, leaving out the part of the story where she was the one who got the psychic into the mess with a demon in the first place, though no one knew that but Fergus.

“And that's all we need?” Sam asked. “Just the hagstone?”

“And a bit of blood and a simple incantation,” she nodded.

“Fine. We'll go get the stone, you try to find a spell to get us out of this.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you're just going to let her stay here alone?” Dean nearly shouted.

Sam was already moving, gathering up an armload of spell books, none of which were anywhere near the dangerous ones, and dropping them on the table next to Rowena. “This should keep you occupied while we're gone,” he said, reaching into a drawer, pulling out a pair of handcuffs, and quickly cuffing Rowena's left hand to the table. She scowled as she looked at the cuff, seeing a symbol on it that would resist magical tampering.

Dean scowled, still looking uncomfortable, as Rowena seemed to accept her fate and sat down, pulling over one of the books to start looking through it. Without a word the brothers left the room, and a minute later she could hear that beast of a car engine come to life deep inside the bunker, and heard them leaving.

“Boys, boys, boys,” she smiled to herself, reaching into her hair and pulling out a bobby pin. “So little faith in me,” she murmured to herself as she used the pin to open the cuff and set off on her real mission, knowing she had about six hours before they'd be back. She knew the answers they were looking for weren't in any of the books they left her with, and even if they were she wouldn't say anything. Two soulmates bound to one person was very rare and meant only one thing… Those boys were in for a surprise. They would soon find out that they don't know half of it when it comes to witches.

XXXXXXX

“ _ This  _ is your bright idea to help me figure this out?” Hermione hissed the next morning as Bill and Ginny stood outside the gates of a cottage covered in vines and bright flowers, the glint of sherry bottles dotting the small garden.

“She does know a little bit about what she's talking about,” Ginny defended, though there was uncertainty in her voice.

“Knows a bit about pure poppycock,” Hermione grumbled.

“She has made a few correct prophecies, and we're not even here for that,” Bill reminded her. “If anyone knows about tracking a soulmate, she's got to be your best bet.”

“Excuse me if I don't hold my breath,” she muttered, but she opened the gate and approached the door, knocking sharply. There was a crash inside, and a moment later the door opened and Professor Trelawney stuck her head out the door.

“Can I help you?” she asked, and the smell of perfumes wafted out the door.

Hermione fought wrinkling her nose at the smell and started. “Good morning, Professor Trelawney. I've come to ask your advice.”

“Are you needing an eye into the future?” she asked.

Hermione shot a look at Bill and Ginny before turning back. “No,” she replied. “I've come to ask if you know anything about soulmate marks.” She pulled her shirt to the side and showed the mark on her chest. “This showed up on me last night with no explanation or warning.”

Professor Trelawney's eyes went wide with excitement. “A soulmate spell!” she cried, turning and hurrying into the cottage, and after a moment's deliberation Hermione entered, Bill and Ginny following close behind. Professor Trelawney was muttering excitedly to herself as she dug through drawers and boxes looking for something and paying no mind to the mess she was leaving on the floor as she dropped things in her haste.

“A soulmate is a very rare gift,” she was saying, finally finding the object she was looking for and holding it up, revealing an oval stone with a hole in it. “It is even rarer for the soulmate to reach out to their other half in such a way.”

“So, my soulmate did this?” Hermione furrowed her brow. “I thought it was old-world magic, and, if Bill is correct about the symbol, I don't think the type of person who uses it would be casting a spell.”

“The spell used for it is not limited to those of us who use wands,” she replied, obviously trying to sound mystical. “Nor does it have to be the spell caster's soulmate who is sought. Anyone with any kind of affinity for magic would be able to cast the spell for anyone else, whether they possess our gifts or not.”

“So, in theory, my soulmate might have had as much warning that this was happening as I had.”

“Yes, my dear, he may have had no inkling that someone may have been bestowing him such a gift.”

“So, is there a way to find him?” Hermione asked.

“A hagstone,” Trelawney pressed the stone into her hand. “Given a drop of your blood, pressed against the mark that links you, and with the proper incantation, it will allow you to see as your soulmate sees.”

“But it won't tell me who it is?”

“That you will have to discover for yourself.”

Hermione turned the stone in her hand a couple times. “What is the incantation?” she asked.

“ _ Ostende mihi _ ,” Trelawney replied. “You must tell the stone to show you. Go ahead, my dear, try it.”

Hermione looked skeptically at her friends. Bill was looking concerned, but Ginny looked eager, and nodded at her. Hermione conjured a small knife and pressed her finger to the tip until a drop of blood appeared. She smeared the blood on the stone, pressed it to the mark on her chest, and muttered,  _ “Ostende mihi.” _

Immediately the room around her disappeared, and it took her a moment to discern what she was seeing. As soon as she did the image shifted, though not much, as though she had moved a couple feet to the left, and a couple seconds later it shifted back to the right.

“Do you see anything Hermione?” Ginny asked.

“I'm riding in a car,” she muttered, but then the image shifted again. “No, I'm driving it. I'm driving from the left hand side and on the right hand side of the road. The car is big, and older looking, and the speedometer is in miles per hour... I think it's American. It's still dark outside, so I'm pretty sure they're at least somewhere in America.”

“Oh! That's a start!”

“Ugh, now I'm back in the passenger seat. All this movement is really distracting,” she growled. “Okay. We're driving down some two-lane road, and there are fields on either side of us.”

“What kind of fields?” Bill asked.

“Wheat, I think... it just shifted again... he's not really focusing on the fields and all I can see comes from the headlights, which aren't that good at looking around, but it looks like wheat.”

“Do you see anything else?”

She saw a hand on top of the wheel, casually making small adjustments as the road gently curved. “He's wearing a dark jacket... no, wait, it just shifted again and I don't see his hands. I just see two long legs wearing a pair of jeans and some scuffed up boots. Damn, it just went back... I see the hand in the jacket again, he's hitting the steering wheel like he's angry. Why can't it just stay still?” she asked, tearing the stone away from her chest. “How am I supposed to get anything useful if it won't stay focused in one spot?”

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked.

“It was like I was driving the car, and then the next second like I was riding in the passenger seat. It was very disorienting. I thought I was supposed to see what he's seeing?”

“Ah, but you are, my dear,” Professor Trelawney was smiling wide, her eyes the size of saucers. “You are seeing what  _ they _ saw.”

“Did you say  _ they _ ?” Hermione snapped.

“Isn't it obvious, my dear? You have two soulmates, and they are traveling together.”

And that was the last thing Hermione heard before she hit the ground.

XXXXXXX

To their surprise Rowena was right where they left her, still chained to the table, looking bored.

“Any luck?” Sam asked.

“Not a thing, Samuel,” she replied dramatically.

“Well, those are just some of the books,” Dean pointed out. “We have a lot more.”

“And you have a bigger problem,” she snapped as Sam freed her. “Even if we found the spell, you're still going to need the girl. Did you get the hagstone?”

“Right here,” Sam held it up, though he was frowning. It was almost too easy; the psychic had left the stone taped to her front door with their names on it, but he chalked it up to Rowena. She probably made a call and if the psychic wasn't on the up and up (and considering she was chummy with Rowena the chances of that were pretty good) the last thing she would want is a couple Hunters entering her house. Dean had burst into random rants during their drive, mostly aimed at whoever had the gall to place such a spell on them in the first place, but Sam knew that his brother's fear for his sex life wasn't helping things. Sam mostly just listened and considered their luck. Or, rather, the girl's luck. Even if she had been the one to cast the spell herself, she probably wasn't expecting two soulmates, and even if that wasn't too much for her, her luck of the draw was virtually non-existent. How else would you explain being bound to two brothers who had managed to cause more than one apocalypse? He would have less sympathy if she were a witch and had cast the spell, but he had a feeling deep down that he and Dean had been the targets, and the girl was just some random woman who had been going about her life as normal until yesterday. He had wondered most of the car ride if she knew anything about what was happening, if she had been searching for the meaning of whatever marks had appeared on her, if she had any idea of what was going on, or if she was confused and frightened about what the hell had just happened.

“Wonderful,” Rowena was smiling. “Now, all you need to do is to smear a little drop of blood on it, hold it against the mark, and say the incantation o _ stende mihi _ .”

“That's it?” Dean asked.

“That's it,” she assured them. “Then you will see whatever your soulmate is looking at.”

“It's three in the morning,” he replied. “She's probably looking at the inside of her eyelids.”

“It wouldn't hurt to try,” Sam pointed out.

“Do you want to do the honors?” he raised an eyebrow.

Sam didn't need Dean to say it out loud to know that his brother was nervous. Dean Winchester was quite fond of saying that he was not the settling down type, but rather the love-’em-and-leave-’em type, and having a soul mate wasn't exactly compatible with that life plan. He would interact with her as little as possible in hopes that they found a way out of this mess, because he sure as Hell didn't know how to interact with her otherwise. 

“Wuss,” Sam smirked at Dean, unable to stop the quick jab, and Dean looked like he wanted to punch him in the face for a second, but instead he held out his knife. Sam didn't even bother taking a hold of it, just pressed his finger to the tip until he felt the skin break. Then he smeared his blood on the stone, held it to the mark on his arm, and said, “ _ Ostende mihi _ .”

Instantly the room around him changed. His vision was blurry, like he was just coming to. There were three faces above him, slowly coming into focus.

“What do you see?” Dean demanded.

“Faces, but I can't really make them out yet. I think she might have fainted or she's just waking up,” Sam replied. “Okay, I can see them a little better now. There's two gingers and a man with black hair, round glasses, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. She's just sitting up now... it's daytime where she is.”

“So she's not even in this country,” Dean complained.

“I'm trying to figure it out. I can see vaguely out the window... wait!” Sam urged the girl to look back, but she was looking at her friends, who were crowding around her. 

“Anything about the room she's in?” Dean encouraged.

“Books,” Sam replied. “I can't make them out because they're on her periphery, but I can tell both sides of the room are lined in bookshelves. And... what the... that is one ugly cat,” he scowled as he watched a ginger cat with a squashed face jump onto the girl's lap. She looked down at her pet and started scratching it, and he caught a glimpse of its collar, and the flash of a tag...

“Zero two zero!” he shouted, pulling the hagstone away from the mark and tossing it to Dean as he made a lunge for his computer. 

“What do you mean zero two zero?” Dean asked.

“It was the first three numbers on the cat's collar,” he said, pulling up a search engine. “London,” he announced. “She's in London.”

“Well, ain't that great?” Dean grumbled, getting out his knife.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked.

“My soulmate, too, right, Rowena?” he looked around, but to their surprise Rowena had gone. “Witches,” he growled bitterly. He nicked his finger on the knife and smeared his blood on the stone, then took his time putting his knife away and staring at the stone, willing himself to get it over with. Finally he gingerly touched the stone to his mark and muttered, “ _ Ostende mihi _ .”

“See anything?” Sam asked.

“She's in a bathroom, about to wash her hands,” Dean replied, then his eyebrow shot up. “Nice rack.”

“Dean!” he snapped.

“Hey, for the time being and possibly forever, this is the only rack I'm going to get off with so I'm going to look,” he shot back. “Alright, sweetheart, there's always a mirror above the sink, just look up...” he encouraged, but he scowled. “Dammit, she's getting something out. Some kind of liquid, I bet she's got a headache from all this soulmate crap.”

“Are there any pill bottles that might have her name?” he asked.

“No, she's just got little jars. You don't think she's one of those new-age, essential oil chicks, do you?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Er, right. Okay, sweetheart, close the cabinet, let's get a good look at you... dammit,” he growled again. “She was turning as she closed it, I didn't get to see her. No ring on the hand, though, so I guess that's good. Woah!”

“What?”

“That  _ is _ an ugly cat.”

Sam snorted and shook his head. 

“Looks like the party died down. You weren't lying about the books. She's in her kitchen now, but I don't see any newspaper or mail that might give me an idea. Oh, crap, she's getting out some fruit and oatmeal,” he pulled the stone away and looked at Sam. “How the hell did we get the same soulmate? This chick is like you with tits.”

“I think that says more about you than me,” Sam shot back.

Dean shot him a look but put the hagstone on the table. “I don't like it,” he muttered. “I feel like I'm invading her privacy.”

“I know,” he replied softly.

“I'm going to bed,” he grumbled. “I need a night's sleep to stew on this.”

Sam nodded as Dean walked off. He stared at the hagstone for several minutes, contemplating everything that had happened in the last day. The best thing he and his brother could do would be to leave everything the way it was, knowing their soulmate was safe and in London. If it weren't for the sex thing that's exactly what they would be doing. But in the back of his mind he also knew he wasn't going to let that hagstone stray too far from his vision. Like it or not he had a soulmate, and part of him felt an obligation to make sure she was safe, because he knew chances were good that their connection had already put her into danger.

He pocketed the hagstone before he returned to his room and fell into the bed, still clothed, and fell asleep almost immediately.

XXXXXXX

Hermione would be the first to admit that she didn't take the news of having two soulmates very well. She fainted and stayed out for nearly an hour. Bill and Ginny took her back to her house before summoning Harry, who came as soon as Molly could come watch the kids. They were crowded around her when she came to again, obviously very concerned, but she wanted some time to herself and kicked them all out after banning anyone from using magic in her vicinity. If her soulmates were Hunters she didn't want to get off on the wrong foot by letting slip she was a witch. That was, if she ever decided to go looking for them.

“What am I going to do, Crookshanks?” she sighed as she sat at the table in her kitchen, looking contemplatively at her cat. 

Crookshanks let off a sound like a soft growl.

“You'll always be my number one man,” she smiled. “But I'm not willing to go the rest of my life without a satisfying sex life just because some bloody mark appeared on my chest.” She pulled the hagstone out of her pocket and looked at it. Her first foray into the eyes of her soulmates hadn't revealed much, though what were the odds that they were traveling together? Once Hermione had mentioned to Harry that they were possibly Hunters he promised to reach out to his counterpart in MACUSA, who kept tabs on all the known Hunters, to possibly give them a clue. Harry had warned her, however, not to get her hopes up. Hunters in America were well known to drive large cars, be up late at night, and many worked in pairs. And they crossed the country constantly, so even if she could pin down a location that didn't mean they would be there very long. He said Hunters in America were much different than their British counterparts, though he didn't really elaborate, just told her not to go looking for any on their side of the pond.

The stone tempted her as she finished eating and cleaned up, and with the prospect of nothing ahead of her for the day, the temptation proved too strong. She picked it up and went to make herself comfortable on her favorite chair. Crookshanks took his customary position on her lap as she drew another drop of blood from her finger, pressed the stone to her chest, and whispered the incantation.

For several seconds all she saw was darkness. She shouldn't be surprised; if her hunch that they were American was correct one or both of her soulmates might be asleep. She was about to give it up as a bad job when she saw something. A pretty blonde woman, no, she would be pretty if she was a more human color, but she was pale white, eyes large and surrounded by dark circles. She saw the woman talking to her soulmate, looking almost comforting, planning a supportive hand on his arm before stepping back. As she watched a gash opened across the woman's abdomen, soaking the nightgown she was wearing in blood, and she was hoisted onto the ceiling, which burst into flames. The last thing she saw before her vision shifted was a pair of cruel yellow eyes.

For a moment she wondered why her vision had shifted. All she could see was darkness. Then there was a flash of light, like lightning, but more ominous. Slowly the image of chains came into view, thousands and thousands of chains crossing everywhere over her field of vision, visible only in flashes of light. She felt her breath speed up as she looked around, searching for someone, anyone, to indicate where she might be, but there was no one in this place. Her soulmate turned his head, and she could see he was suspended in midair by the giant chains, with hooks impaled in his body to keep him spread-eagled with his arms out wide. She could feel herself breathing fast and her heart start to pound as she tried to figure out where she was, but when her soulmate looked down again it wasn't the empty expanse of chains, but into the jaws of a giant, terrifying dog-like creature, jaws agape as it moved to tear into his flesh...

She screamed and dropped the stone. Crookshanks darted off her lap, jumping onto her coffee table and looking at her as she clutched the sides of the chair and tried to forget the horrific sights she had just seen. Her breathing was just about back to normal when there was the sound of a door opening behind her and she jumped.

“Harry!” she cried as she saw her friend entering the room, several large books in his arms. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, putting the books down and sitting on the coffee table, taking her hands.

“I tried looking again,” she admitted.

“Did you see them hunting?” he guessed.

“No. I think they're asleep, and I think they were dreaming.”

“Did you see monsters?” he asked, sounding hopeful that they were about to confirm their Hunter theory.

“No,” she shook her head. “Monsters I can handle. But the first was a woman, I watched her die horrifically. But the second one. This place he was in...” she trailed off, shuddering as the images swam through her mind again. 

“What was it like?”

“No place I've ever seen, thank Merlin,” she replied with a shaky sigh. “I couldn't even accurately describe it to you, but he must have been in a lot of pain, but also isolated. And there was this big dog with glowing red eyes and jagged, drooling teeth. Harry, that thing made Fluffy look tame. I can't imagine anywhere on earth that looks like that, it honestly looked like Hell.”

“I'm sure it was just some nightmares,” he tried to assure her.

“Still, I would be happy if I never saw those men's dreams again,” she muttered, not adding that she hoped they never got a glimpse of hers. “I didn't know soulmates could see dreams with the hagstones.”

“Isn't that why you asked me to get these? So you could figure all that sort of thing out?” he asked, patting the books. “I took a week off and told Kingsley you were doing the same. Hopefully by that time we'll have a better idea of what is going on, okay?”

She nodded, closing her eyes to exhale, but opening them immediately as the images of the dog and those haunting yellow eyes lingered. Her heart broke a little for both the men, and for a fleeting instant she desperately wanted to find them and do something to stop them from ever having to see that again.

“First, a cup of tea, yeah? Then we'll try to figure this out,” he smiled, holding a hand out to her. She allowed him to pull her to her feet, though she feared ever going to sleep again, afraid that the visions from her soulmates’ dreams may become her own nightmares.

XXXXXXX

Sam tapped the hagstone on the table. Twice he had performed the incantation, and twice he had seen the same image: the girl was reading books about soulmates, accompanied by a man Sam guessed to be about his or Dean's age, the man with black hair and the lightning scar. He scowled at the realization that he felt somewhat jealous of the man. Was he her lover? Dean said she didn't have a ring so it probably wasn't her husband, but that didn't mean she wasn't in a relationship. She obviously knew what the sudden mark meant if she was researching soulmates as well. Had she found out about the hagstone, too? Part of him wanted to just stare at a piece of paper with his name and phone number on it to see if she would call, but he was researching as well. Unfortunately his research wasn't proving very helpful, and Dean's constant bad attitude and skulking wasn't helping anything. 

“How about we go to London?” Dean finally suggested.

“You hate flying,” Sam pointed out.

“But she's there. Maybe it'll be easier to find her there.”

“How are we supposed to get over there?” he asked. “I'm pretty sure neither of us have passports, seeing as we're legally dead.”

“Nothing a little trip to the copy store won't fix,” Dean shrugged nonchalantly.

“And then what? Eight million people live in London, we're just supposed to search them all trying to find the same pair of tits you saw?”

“They were under a sweater,” he admitted. 

“So we've got nothing to go on but a sweater and an ugly cat.”

“We've hunted with less.”

“Monsters, Dean. Not human women.” He exhaled loudly and closed his eyes. “Maybe Cass...”

“I tried getting a hold of him,” Dean shook his head. “Nada.”

“Well, I know she knows about the soulmate thing...”

“Wait, how do you know that?” he asked. 

“I've looked in on her a couple times. She's researching.” He left the bit out about the raven-haired man. Dean might not like having a soulmate, but he also had a bit of a possessive streak. If he was having any of the same feelings Sam was having, it wouldn't help them if Dean thought the girl might already be attached to someone.

“Again, how is this chick my soulmate?”

“I'm sure there's a reason.”

“So, she just happened to have books on soulmates?” he asked suspiciously.

“They're old,” Sam replied. “I think they came from the library. I don't know why, but I have a feeling this was as much a surprise to her as it was to us. Otherwise don't you think if she really was like me she would have gotten all the information about finding us  _ before  _ casting the spell?”

Dean looked disgruntled and dropped into a chair. “So what do we do?”

“One of two things,” he replied softly. “I've gotten every book out that I think might mention soulmates. Option one, we keep digging, hopefully find something that can help us either find her, or we find a way to break the spell so even if we're still soulmates we don't have to only be with her.”

“Option two?”

“One of us always uses the hagstone. Eventually she'll reveal enough about herself that we can figure out where she is and discuss how we find her from there.”

Dean scowled and picked up a book. Neither of them were willing to invade the girl's privacy that much.

XXXXXXX

“Anything new?” Harry asked as Hermione pressed the hagstone to her mark again. She had taken to checking every hour or so, and found that her soulmates were doing much the same as she and Harry were- researching. So they were aware of what the marks meant and were trying to figure out the next step, just as she was. Unfortunately, while they seemed to be in the same room they were avoiding looking at each other, so she hadn't yet seen either of their faces. They seemed to be in a library of sorts, though without anything more to go on she wasn't able to identify which one.

“Yes, one's cooking in a kitchen,” she said, getting a glimpse of his hands frying bacon and flipping a couple burger patties, a beer sitting on the counter nearby. She had just enough time to wonder which of the hellish dreams this one had revealed to her when her vision shifted. The other man was moving, walking down a hallway, and she gasped as he passed a door.

“Give me a quill and paper, Harry!” she shouted, clutching the hagstone so tightly her fingers turned white. She didn't dare look away from the scene, the sheer strength of her will to keep seeing seemed to keep her with the man as he entered a room and closed the door behind him. She dropped the stone to her lap and started drawing furiously, Harry craning his neck to see.

“What is it?” he asked.

“This symbol,” she said, turning her crude drawing towards her friend. “This symbol is on the doors!”

Harry studied the symbol, his eyes starting to widen. “I'll be back!” he shouted, leaping up and running into the other room where her Floo was, and she looked away before the fireplace flared green just in case one of the men had started watching her. With shaking hands she picked the hagstone back up and did the incantation again. She was back with the man in the room, and she flushed as she realized it was a shower room. She didn't see all of him, but she saw a glimpse of a tall, muscular physique in one of the mirrors as he started stripping down to take a shower. He looked down as he tossed his shirt to the side, and she could see a tattoo of the same mark that now adorned her chest sitting above his heart. Just as he unfastened his belt her vision shifted, and she was back in the kitchen, though she would never admit the pang of disappointment that went through her. Her other soulmate was plating the burgers, loading one with the bacon on top, and she decided to stop watching before her vision shifted back. As much as she wanted to see more... all... of her soulmate in the shower it was a gross invasion of privacy and she knew she would be upset if they saw the same thing. She also made a mental note to take very quick showers for the time being.

“I'm back!” Harry came into the room. Hermione's flush hadn't fully gone away before it came raging back, and she willed her heart to stop beating as he sat across from her again, holding a large file. “I knew I saw that symbol before. British Men of Letters. They're this Muggle organization with too much money, but they're our version of Hunters. The Ministry lets them take care of rogue monsters that wind up here, and they pat themselves on the back for not having any witches, wizards, werewolves, and the like in the country. Of course, that just means they don't know their heads from their asses, but we let them carry on and monitor to make sure they don't get too close.”

“But I thought my soulmates were in America...” she muttered.

“The Men of Letters is an international organization. A few decades ago there was an American chapter, but they were wiped out by a demon and no one took over. Their headquarters was a bunker in Lebanon, Kansas.”

“Doesn't Kansas grow a lot of wheat?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” he nodded. “Whoever your soulmates are, I think they’re in that bunker right now.”

“So all we need to do is get an international portkey,” she said, standing up.

“Now wait a minute, Hermione,” he grabbed her hand. “That bunker has an insane amount of wards on it. MACUSA has tried to get in but never managed to break them. I don't doubt that if we show up your soulmates will know we're there, and that's if one of those wards doesn't let off that you're a witch. I don't want you going into their territory when all you know is where they are.”

“So... what?” she bit her lip. “I keep watching them until I know their faces?”

“I alerted my counterpart in MACUSA. Robert's a good guy, he'll be discrete,” he added when he saw the look of horror on her face. “He said he's going to go through their records and see if they know which Hunters are there. He should be getting back to me...” the fireplace in the other room roared green and a voice called Harry's name. “Right now,” Harry added, standing and going into the other room. Hermione moved to join him, but then remembered that she was limiting how much magic she might let her soulmates see, and she stayed put. A minute later Harry came back in, scowling.

“What is it?” she asked nervously, bouncing and craning her neck to see the rather thick file he was holding.

“The good news is he found them,” he replied, looking up at her.

“The bad news?”

Harry sighed. “They're Sam and Dean Winchester. They're brothers.”

“What?” she said, lunging forward and snatching the file from him. “My soulmates are  _ brothers _ ?”

“It looks like it. Robert said there's no one else they know of living in that bunker.”

She looked down at the file, then opened it. There was a picture of two men, standing by a black car. One was taller, with longer brown hair and stubbly facial hair. He was arguing with a man who probably only looked short because he was standing next to someone so tall who had short, blond hair and green eyes. The two of them dressed similarly, with jackets over plaid shirts, jeans, and boots. The shorter one slammed the trunk of the car down and angrily got into the driver's seat while the taller seemed to take a moment to calm down before climbing into the passenger’s side. She and Harry watched the picture cycle in silence twice more before she turned to the next one. This was a still shot, a black and white mugshot of the shorter one, and she could see by the nameplate he was Dean. The next was Sam's mugshot. The final picture was the two of them eating and drinking in a bar. Dean checked out a waitress as she walked past, and Hermione pretended she didn't feel a pang of jealousy at the sight. 

“This is a rather large file,” she muttered.

“Robert said they've gotten into a fair number of scrapes, and that's just what they know of. Most of it is Muggle stuff, they seem to commit a fair number of crimes to keep moving around and while they're hunting. Robert said the Hunters aren't tracked all the time, just when they get a little too close to our world, and these two have gotten close a few times. But in the end they finish whatever job they were on and move on.”

She bit her lip and closed the file. “I think I have a plan, Harry.”

XXXXXXX

Sam could feel the weight of the hagstone in his pocket, and felt the temptation to use it again slide over him. The thing was addictive, giving him a few tantalizing glimpses of his soulmate the last couple times he looked. Unfortunately she didn't seem one for looking in the mirror, but she was apparently one for wearing low slung pajama pants and a tank-top to bed, since he could clearly see her wearing them as she was getting ready for bed. He could see enough of her body from that that he knew she was trim, but not too thin, with curves that meant the fitted tank top would work its way up around her waist if she did much moving. Dean was right, she had nice breasts, and he could see the faint copy of their tattoo over her heart. He also saw the 'mudblood' scars on her arm, more pronounced than his, looking almost fresh. Once she went to sleep, however, her dreams were of a large castle, sometimes intact and sometimes in flames, but always the same castle, so they eventually gave up and went to bed themselves. 

“I want to take a look,” Dean said as he entered the room.

Reluctantly Sam pulled the stone out of his pocket. Dean didn't look nearly as often as he did, so he really had no reason to deny him when he did want to look, but for some reason Sam just felt better when the stone was with him. He reached for a book when Dean shouted.

“Holy shit!” 

“What?” Sam asked, sitting up.

“She's looking at the goddamn Legion Hall in town, like she's sitting on that bench outside the Post Office!”

“What?” he repeated again, standing up so fast he knocked the chair over.

“Look!” Dean tossed the stone to him.

Sam's fingers were shaking as he caught the stone and hastily performed the incantation. Dean hadn't been lying, their soulmate was staring, nearly unmoving, at the Legion Hall and the market next to it, and there was no denying where she was. They had been in that market dozens of times, knew the clerks. She was just a few minutes away from the bunker.

“How?” Sam asked as he and Dean started running towards the Impala.

“Beats me, she must have been on a flight during that time we didn't see her,” Dean replied as they entered the garage.

“But I saw her going to bed last night. Back in London. That ugly cat was there and everything!”

“Maybe we were wrong about where she was,” he said, opening the driver's door.

“We were wrong about the sun?” Sam replied, standing on the opposite side of the car. “Not to mention it’s got to be a twelve hour flight just to get to the nearest airport to here from London.”

“Do you deny she's there?”

“No, I don't, but that's the problem. There's no physical way she should be there unless...” he trailed off.

“Something supernatural moved her,” Dean finally realized what he was saying.

“Yes.”

Dean scowled and moved towards the trunk, opening it and starting to fish for weapons. He pulled out his gun, another with silver bullets, and tucked an angel blade up his sleeve. Sam got his own gun and the demon-killing knife. Together they climbed in, and Dean floored it into town, pulling to a screeching halt outside the Post Office, but the bench was empty. They climbed out and looked around, but nothing looked out of place, the only person they saw nearby was an old man. 

“Where did she...?” Dean started to growl, but Sam hit him in the chest and pointed down the street.

“The black-haired man with the lightning scar,” he muttered. The man was standing there, looking at them, and when he noticed them looking he turned and walked away, heading towards an abandoned house. Sam and Dean exchanged a look before taking off after the man, who sped up when he noticed he was being followed, ducking into the house. A moment later Sam and Dean entered the house and both instinctively drew their guns as they came face-to-face with five people: three redheaded men, the raven-haired man, and a woman with bushy brown hair in the middle, all of whom were aiming sticks of some sort at them.

For a long moment no one spoke, everyone appraising the situation, before the woman cautiously lowered her stick and took a step forward. She pulled her shirt to the side, revealing the anti-possession symbol on her chest, and looked between the two brothers.

“I think we may be looking for each other,” she said.


	2. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I posted my first chapter without some much needed thanks.
> 
> First, to my beta Jocillyria, who put up with random large chapter dumps because I am weird like that.
> 
> Second, to DarkAngelofSorrowReturns, who created some BEAUTIFUL pieces of art for this. I will be featuring these throughout the rest of this story.
> 
> And finally to the admins at the Hermione's Haven Facebook page, for putting on this Big Bang and so many other wonderful writing challenges.
> 
> This story is complete at six chapters long. I will be posting one chapter a week, probably on Tuesdays but sometimes life messes with us.

For a long moment no one moved, weapons still trained on each other. Hermione studied the brothers intently, and she held little doubt that they knew what she was from first sight. Really she had planned to ambush them like that and get it out of the way immediately. Sam seemed to be wearing his emotions on his sleeve, his mouth open slightly in his confusion and conflict, his brown eyes meeting hers and pleading silently for a quick resolution that didn't involve someone getting hurt. Dean, on the other hand, had hardened. Years of instinct and stress seemed to suddenly solidify his handsome features as his green eyes went cold. She fought the urge to raise her wand again, wanting to show some sign that she was not going to hurt them, but she knew there was no convincing her friends to do the same when she had two guns pointed in her direction.

“Okay,” Sam finally came out of his trance first, lowering his gun a bit. “Okay, you're here to talk about this soulmate thing, right?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Alright, so how about we all calm down?” he said, bending down and putting his gun on the floor and nudging it away with his foot. This caused Harry, Ron, George, and Bill to lower their wands slightly, but all still had them out as Dean hadn't moved a muscle.

“Dean,” Sam turned to encourage his brother.

“They're witches!” Dean snapped. “They're a bunch of friggin' witches!”

“Technically I'm the only witch, they're wizards,” Hermione said softly.

“And that's supposed to make it better?” he spat. “I don't care what the fuck you call it, you're all a bunch of demon whores!”

“Dean!” Sam snapped.

“How dare you!” Hermione shouted. “I was born with these powers, all of us,” she motioned to her friends, “were born with these powers! They come from a long line of magical persons! We have schools and government and everything! How dare you suggest that we would consort with demons!”

“Better watch yourself, mate,” Ron warned. “Hermione here is known to have a bit of a temper.”

Dean looked suddenly unsure of himself, and the gun wavered a little, but he didn't put it down.

“Hermione,” Sam repeated, walking forward a couple steps with his hands up. “Your name is Hermione?”

“Hermione Granger,” she nodded as she stepped towards him. 

“It's... uh... it's, well, nice to meet you,” he stumbled, his hands darting several ways as he tried to figure out the proper way to greet her. Hermione put her wand in her pocket and held out her hand, shooting him an awkward smile as they shook hands. 

“We'll put the wands down if you put the gun down,” she turned to Dean.

Sam nodded, pleading with his brother, “Look, she put her wand away. She doesn't want to hurt us. Let's talk things over for a bit, I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot here.”

“Understatement of the year, there, mate,” George smiled.

“Sam... we  _ hunt _ witches,” Dean said through clenched teeth, conflict thick in his voice.

“We hunt demon-made witches, and witches that are hurting people, and we just worked with Rowena. Let's just chill for a few minutes and talk about this.”

Hermione could see Dean studying her, his eyes slowly moving down, then back up her body, taking in the slacks and sweater she was wearing, eyes locking with hers as he looked for any hint that things were about to end poorly.

“Put away your wands,” Hermione ordered her friends, eyes not leaving Dean's, and she could hear her friends hesitate but ultimately comply.

Dean took a few deep breaths before putting the gun into the waistband of his pants.

“I have a former professor who would tell you that's a good way to lose a buttock,” she said with a smile.

“Hasn't failed me yet, sweetheart,” he replied.

Her face fell and she looked back at Sam. They both opened their mouths several times to say something, but no words would come. 

“So, um, hi,” Sam finally looked at the line of wizards. “I'd say nice to meet you, but this isn't going very well.”

“Considering she's supposed to be your soulmate? Yeah, I'm pretty sure you're doing this wrong,” Harry smiled. “I'm Harry Potter, by the way.”

“Ron Weasley,” Ron continued. “These are my brothers, George and Bill. And, unlike these two, we didn't take the day off work so, as long as no one is about to kill each other...?” he raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

“Yeah, go home,” she said, turning around and giving Bill a hug.

“Keep me posted,” Bill muttered, shooting a warning look at Sam and Dean.

“I will,” she promised. “Thanks for coming with,” she said to George.

“Anything for you, sis,” he smiled at her and gave her cheek a kiss. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

“Thank you. Ron...”

“I'll stay if you want me to, 'Mione.”

“No, thank you, it's probably best we don't outnumber them right now,” she replied softly.

“Alright. Let me know everything as soon as you can.”

“I will. Thank you,” she kissed his cheek. George produced an old hat and held it out so Bill and Ron could put a hand on it. Bill tapped it with his wand, and a moment later it glowed blue and they disappeared.

“What the hell was that?” Dean demanded, hand instinctively reaching for his gun, but he held himself up.

“It's called a Portkey,” she replied. “It's something we use to travel long distances, when Apparation doesn't really work.”

“Apparation?” Sam asked.

Hermione smiled before turning on the spot, reappearing on the other side of the room, then doing it again to return to where she had been standing.

Sam couldn't contain a smile. Dean looked like he wanted to go for his gun again.

An awkward silence fell as each of them sized up each other, but no one was sure what to say or how to address the elephant in the room. 

“Maybe I could treat you to lunch?” Hermione suggested, looking at Harry who shrugged.

“That sounds okay,” Sam nodded with a relieved smile. “Right, Dean?”

Dean sized Harry up once more before nodding. “But I'm driving. None of that hocus pocus crap.”

“Of course,” Hermione nodded. “Lead the way.”

Dean turned and walked out of the house, and Harry was the first to follow. Sam made a motion for Hermione to go ahead, but he quickly caught up and walked alongside her. They walked in silence, but Hermione could feel Sam itching to ask questions next to her. It was becoming pretty clear that, of the two brothers, Sam was much more open to the idea of having a witch as a soulmate, or at least he was the more interested of the two in starting whatever kind of relationship they were going to have on the right foot. Dean had set an aggressive pace, and eventually Hermione had to take a few jogging steps to keep up. When they got to the car Sam opened the rear door, motioning for Hermione to go in first. Dean shot him a look over the top of the car before dropping into the driver's seat as Hermione slid across and Sam sat next to her. Harry hesitated before climbing into the passenger seat and quickly buckling his seat belt.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked as he noticed Hermione biting her lip and studying the front.

“What?” she seemed to come out of a trance. “Oh, yes. I am. I just... the first time I ever saw you two you were in this car. I'm just kind of remembering, it seems so long ago now, but it was barely more than a day.”

“That must have been the night we went to go get the hagstone,” Sam told her. “That was the only time we drove since...” his eyes flashed down at his arm.

Hermione saw and her face fell. “Did you get the mark on your arm?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” he nodded, pushing up his sleeve so she could see. “Dean has the same one. It's how Rowena figured out we had the same soulmate.”

“I'm so sorry,” she murmured. “I never would have chosen...”

“What does it mean?” Dean interrupted.

Harry turned and looked at Hermione, who mouthed “it's okay” and took a deep breath. “In my world there are people, like the Weasleys, who can trace their magical lineage back for generations, and they're referred to as pure-blood. There are people like Harry, who have one pure-blood parent and one parent who is either a Muggle, someone who is not a witch or wizard, or a Muggle-born, and they're considered half-blood. And then there are people like me, who were born with magic despite having no magical lineage, and we're called Muggle-born. Until quite recently there were sects of pure-bloods who looked down on people like me. They considered us inferior. Mudblood is a derogatory term they use for Muggle-borns.”

“That sounds like some straight-up Nazi crap,” Dean growled, glancing at her in the rear-view.

“If it's considered derogatory, why...?” Sam trailed off.

“It's a very long story, but the short of it is there was a war. The kind of pure-bloods that thought Muggle-borns were inferior were on one side. Those of us who either were Muggle-born or supported them were on the other. Our side was losing bad enough at one point that Harry, Ron, and I went on the run. We were captured, taken to some of the higher-ups, and I was tortured for information. The woman who did this to my arm did so because she hadn't planned on leaving an identifiable corpse. She intended to torture me until I either died or could no longer go on, at which point she was going to give me to a werewolf to do as he will. She said the mark should be good enough to let the world know whose body it was.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and Sam instinctively placed a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“Merlin, I'm sorry. I don't even know why I told you all that,” she flushed, biting her lip and looking down.

“Hey, don't apologize,” Sam murmured comfortingly. “We asked. I shouldn't have pushed, we just... we were kind of curious about this word on our arms.”

“It's not like we haven't been through some shit we've had a hard time dealing with,” Dean added. “We're practically experts at it.”

Hermione shuddered as she remembered the dreams. 

“So, did you only get one mark?” Sam asked.

“Yes, so I'm assuming you both have the tattoo,” she replied.

“Yes,” he nodded. “We used to have necklaces, but we thought it might be better to make it a little more permanent.”

She raised an eyebrow, knowing there must be a story behind it, but Sam didn't seem keen on giving her much information, just muttering, “Once was enough.”

The car fell silent again and, after a few minutes, Harry started tapping on his knees.

“Are you a car guy?” Dean asked him, hating the silence and wanting Harry to stop fidgeting.

“I haven't been in one in years,” Harry replied. 

“Probably for the best for the sake of the vehicle,” Hermione chuckled.

“Once!” he cried.

“Twice, and three if you count that time with Ron.”

“Twice what?” Dean asked.

“Times that he's wrecked a vehicle. Harry tried to learn how to drive. He got a little heavy on the accelerator and, how did they put it? Failed to negotiate a turn. He went right through a fence into a sheep field.”

Sam and Dean couldn't stop themselves from chuckling.

“Okay, that's one,” Dean smiled.

“He also crashed a flying motorbike head-first into a swamp,” she continued.

“I had Voldemort on my tail!” Harry protested. “We had just been in this mid-air battle and Voldemort, who was the leader of the side we were fighting, was right alongside me. I just made it into the wards before he killed me, and I didn't have the time or the wherewithal to stop the bike before crashing it.”

“It was so bad it took two years to fix it properly,” Hermione added.

“Yes, well, Hagrid's weight didn't help things.”

“What about the last one?” Sam interrupted.

“When we were twelve Harry and Ron had missed the train to school. Rather than waiting to see if Ron's mum re-appeared from the platform they decided the best way to deal with the situation was to steal Ron's dad's flying car and drive it across the country, and end their trip by crashing the thing into the resident Whomping Willow, which is a sentient tree that beats anything that comes into contact with it.”

“That was mostly Ron,” Harry grumbled.

“You are what we in the legal profession call an accomplice,” she smirked.

“Legal profession? So, you're, like, what? A cop?” Dean asked.

“No, I'm Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We write the laws, change them when needed, and prosecute offenders. Harry is more of the police, he's the Head of the Auror office. Aurors are more of an elite squad of law enforcement. We have others who deal with the minor infractions. I'm more the bureaucratic side of things, I help craft the laws and help prosecute offenders.”

“Really? You're a freaking lawyer?” Dean grumbled, and Hermione and Harry exchanged a confused look. “Are you sure you're not the female version of Sam?”

“Stop it,” Sam snapped, voice tense.

Silence fell again as Harry and Hermione both looked uncomfortable. A minute later Dean pulled into the parking lot of a bar and grill, and the group got out and went inside. It wasn't crowded, so they were quickly shown to a table. Sam and Dean sat on one side, looking uncomfortable at how close they had to sit, while Harry and Hermione sat on the other. Hermione, Harry, and Sam spent a minute looking over the menu, while Dean took the opportunity to study Hermione a little more. She was pretty, he would admit that in a second. But she was still a witch, and he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to get over that hurdle. They did work with Rowena on occasion, out of necessity, and he hated every second of it. Hermione, for the time being, was now a magical intruder in their lives, and she didn't seem keen to give up her bodyguard to be left alone with them, which meant they had a second magical intruder. He didn't like having even one. But, he realized, it might be helpful. Maybe they knew something he didn't about how to break their bond. That had to be the goal, right? Break the bond so they could go their separate ways? Because witch or not there was no way that the woman in front of them deserved the life he and Sam were living.

“Are we ready to order here?” the waitress appeared, and Dean felt his face redden. He and the waitress... Veronica was it?... had a bit of a history. Three times he had come to this place and three times he had gone home with her. He hadn't really thought about that when he steered the Impala in the direction of the bar and grill.

“I think so,” Sam looked around for confirmation. 

“Great! I'll start with you,” she said, pointing with her pen to Harry.

“A steak sandwich and some iced tea, please,” Harry smiled at her.

“You got it, sugar,” she smiled back. “And you, Ma'am?”

“Chopped salad and some water, please,” Hermione replied.

“I'll have the same,” Sam added.

“And for you, Dean? Your usual? A bacon double, a beer, and what time I get off?” she asked with a flirty smile and a rub of his shoulder.

Dean chuckled nervously as he felt three sets of eyes fall on him. “Just the, uh... just the burger and beer today, thanks.”

“Seven thirty, if you change your mind,” she winked before walking off.

“Dean...” Sam groaned as Dean cleared his throat and tried to avoid Hermione's eyes. 

“I guess that answers whether you come here often,” Hermione said with a timid smile. After a minute of awkward silence she asked, “You mentioned that you recently worked with a witch? I'm assuming one of the ones who did consort with demons?”

“That's putting it mildly,” Dean smirked.

“Rowena is a natural witch, but obviously not like you,” Sam clarified. “She doesn't use a wand, but she didn't make a deal with a demon for her powers, either. I mean, we obviously didn't know about your kind of magic until an hour ago so it's going to take some comparing to see the difference, but I already know that Rowena isn't like you. That said, she is the mother of a demon, Crowley.”

“Crowley is kind of a big shot in Hell,” Dean added. “The King of Hell. Or was, not sure at the moment which it is. He seems to have trouble maintaining that position.”

“And, you know this King of Hell?” Harry asked, sounding concerned.

“Know him. Hate him. Sometimes have to fight him. Other times we put up with his self-important bullshit enough that we can occasionally work with him. Still hate him. But in this job, any connection that gets less demons following your ass is a good thing.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look as the waitress returned with their food, her hand lingering on Dean's shoulder as she asked if they needed anything else, then looking sour when he waved her away.

“It's not like we're inviting him over for dinner parties,” Sam said quickly, trying to smooth things over. “In what we do, occasionally we have to seek out the bad in order to deal with the worse. And it doesn't hurt to not have Hell coming at us at every turn.”

“And what's the price?” Harry asked. “Because I'm assuming that the so-called King of Hell isn't going to work with two Hunters out of the goodness of his heart. Obviously he's getting something out of you, too.”

This time it was Sam and Dean who exchanged a look.

“Alright, let's just stop,” Hermione said firmly. 

“Hermione...” Harry started.

“No. Right now I don't want to hear about demons and other types of witches and whatever else anyone here has hunted or become friends with. We all know that if it weren't for this soulmate business we wouldn't be here. So we need to start discussing what we are going to do about it.”

“I don't know what you've managed to discover with your research...” Sam started.

“Not a lot,” she shook her head. “Our type of magic doesn't do anything like this, so it's not really mentioned in any of the magical books we've looked through. There's a little bit in some of the Divination texts that Professor Trelawney lent me, but that mostly talks about the supposed wonders of having a soulmate and how to tell if you have managed to find them. I don't need bloody divination to know I found mine.”

“Divination?” Dean asked.

“Having an eye for the future,” Hermione replied in a dramatic yet sarcastic tone. “Crystal balls and tea leaves and that nonsense. Until all this happened I had assumed that since the topic of 'soulmates' was covered mostly by that branch of magic that it was just as imprecise and inaccurate as the rest of it, but I guess broken clocks are right twice a day.”

“You do remember that the only reason you were able to find them is because Professor Trelawney gave you that hagstone, right?” Harry chuckled.

“And how she managed to do that without predicting your death yet again will forever confound me,” she shot back. “When we were in school Professor Trelawney predicted Harry's death about once a term,” she explained to Sam and Dean. 

“Obviously a quack,” Dean smiled, taking a drink and not noticing the sideways glance Harry and Hermione shared.

“What have you managed to learn about soulmates?” Hermione asked Sam.

“Not much, either,” he admitted. “The only thing we found out was about the hagstone and Rowena was the one who told us about that. I haven't found anything in the books. We haven't been able to search all that many of them, though. It's only been a day.”

“So I guess the question now becomes what we do now?” she asked.

“More research, I guess,” he shrugged. “We have a rather large library and I'll admit that  _ if  _ I had ever seen something about soulmates before I skipped right over it because it didn't have to do with hunting or killing something.”

“Well, as this doesn't exactly seem to deal with our branch of the magical world, perhaps it would be best to look through some of your books.”

“Of course. We can get some from the bunker. When do you need to go back?”

“We both took a week off to deal with this, though Harry will probably want to pop back home every so often to visit with his wife and kids.”

“Oh, you're married?” Sam turned to Harry.

“Yeah, my wife, Ginny, and I have three little ones- James, Albus, and Lily,” Harry smiled proudly.

“So, that means you two aren't...” Dean trailed off, pointing between them.

“Merlin, no,” Hermione shook her head. “Harry and I have been best friends since we were eleven. He's the closest thing to a brother I've ever had.”

“Wait, I thought those redheads called you 'sis'.”

“The Weasleys are my second family. My magical family, since my parents are both Muggles. And Ron was my boyfriend for a time, though it didn't work out.”

“But you're still friends with him.”

“I've also been friends with him since I was eleven. Our romantic relationship was born in the middle of a battle and grew while we were both dealing with the aftermath of that war. Once things died down and we could focus on it we realized we had made a mistake, and decided to end it amicably so we could remain friends.”

“How did you realize you made a mistake?”

“Dean,” Sam cut him off.

Hermione busied herself getting her wallet out to pay for the meal and ignored the question. 

“If you took a week off to deal with this why don't you stay in the bunker?” Sam asked.

“Say what now?” Dean looked at him. “You're inviting a couple of witches, sorry, a witch and a wizard, to stay with us in the bunker?”

“Why not?” he shot back. “They're obviously not trying to hurt us, and if they're going to help with research they should probably stay close to where the books are.”

Dean glared at him, but didn't have a reply.

“There are plenty of unoccupied rooms, so you wouldn't even have to share with each other,” Sam turned back to Harry and Hermione.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, seemingly speaking to each other without opening their mouths. “Alright, we could do that,” Hermione said, turning back.

“Good,” Sam smiled.

“Great,” Dean grumbled.

XXXXXXX

About an hour later Sam and Dean led Hermione and Harry into the bunker. Hermione looked around eagerly, immediately craning her neck to see the library. 

“Do you guys need to go back to England to get some supplies?” Sam asked.

“Oh, no, we packed enough for a week in here,” Hermione replied, patting her beaded bag. “We weren't sure if our plan was going to work, so we planned in case we would have to be searching for you for a while.” She reached into the bag up to her shoulder, then pulled out a knapsack. “Here you are, Harry,” she said, handing it to her friend.

“How...?” Sam studied the bag.

“Undetectable extension charm,” she replied. “The inside of this bag is bigger than most closets. It's a rather useful little trick I picked up when I knew we were going to have to go on the run.”

“May I?” he asked, curious.

She nodded and held the bag open as far as it would go. He peered inside, then reached a hand in.

“I can't feel anything,” he looked up at her.

“Magic,” she smiled back as he withdrew his hand. “I stick my hand in, cast the spell, and it comes flying over to me. For example.” She stuck her hand in and said, “ _Accio_ _Hogwarts: A History_.” A second later her arm jerked as if something heavy had hit her hand and she pulled the book out of the bag to show it to him.

“That's awesome,” Sam smiled, touching the outside. 

“Thank you,” she smiled back at him, and for a moment their gazes locked. Then his eyes dropped down to the book.

“Is that something to do with your world?” he asked.

“It was the school we went to. You can borrow it if you'd like.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, gently taking it from her. “So, um...” he let off a nervous chuckle. “So how about I show you to your rooms?”

“That sounds good,” she nodded.

He motioned for them to follow, shooting Dean a look as his brother stubbornly refused to move and crossed his arms. He led them to two empty rooms across the hall from each other and opened up the first door before stepping aside so Harry could enter.

“They each have a little bathroom but the shower is the door at the end of the hall,” he said, opening the second door for Hermione, noticing her cheeks had gotten a little flushed at the mention of the shower. “I'll just leave you two to get settled in,” he muttered before striding down the hall. When he saw that Dean wasn't in the war room anymore he made a beeline for the kitchen, and wasn't surprised to find his brother opening a beer and sitting at the table.

“You're getting awfully friendly with them, aren't you?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said, sitting across from him. “That is our soulmate, I thought it would be a good idea to start things off on a good note.”

“In case we can't break the spell and that's our only option for the rest of our lives.”

“No,” he replied angrily. “Because she didn't choose to be in the middle of this any more than you and I did, and I don't think it's okay to be punishing her for it. Nor do I think it's okay to hold her being a witch against her considering she didn't ask for that, either.”

“I'm not holding it against her,” he protested.

“You've done nothing  _ but  _ hold it against her.”

“I don't like it.”

“I don't see why not. She seems like a pretty cool girl.”

“Of course you would think that, she's just like you.”

“Parts of her, yes. But she's got your temper, we saw a bit of that.”

Dean took a long drink. “I don't like it,” he repeated.

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“I still don't like it.”

“You've known her, like, five minutes. Maybe give her a bit of a chance before you jump to conclusions.”

“Are we not going to try to break whatever connection we have between us?” he snapped.

“We are, but...”

“But nothing, Sam. Nothing good comes from this. Either we break the connection and now we know of another, giant magical world out there which, considering what they did to her, doesn't exactly sound like something we may never encounter again  _ or  _ we don't break the connection.”

“Which would be a bad thing because you would be severely limited after.”

“You think this is about sex?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, is it not?” Sam asked skeptically.

“No. It's about a girl from thousands of miles away who was living her life and is now saddled with us, probably permanently, and if so she has to make a choice that she shouldn't have to make; either she goes home and lives her no-good sex life there, or she stays with us and either gets killed herself or gets to hear of our bloody deaths. Did you ever think about that?”

“Of course I thought about it!” he shot back. “I hate that she is in this position, but we're going to try to find a way out of this like we've gotten out of dozens of other situations before, and until we find that solution I don't see the harm in being nice to her.”

“You wouldn't.”

“What is  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

“It means you don't realize how hard you're falling for someone before it's too late and it never ends up well.”

Sam's jaw tightened.

“You just see it as you being nice to her, but I see that look on your face, the look that you give a girl you're interested in, that little excited, happy look that I never see unless you're with a girl you're falling for. You've known her less than three hours and you're already giving her that look.”

“And you see it as a bad thing that I might have chemistry with our soulmate? You do know what soulmate means, right?”

“I know it means that if you get what you want you're going to be attached to her, and that would fuck everything up if we find a way to break this connection. Dammit, Sam, don't you realize what you doom her to if she becomes involved with us? Something is going to get to her and it's going to be our fault.”

“I think Hermione is a bit more capable than most people to take care of herself.”

“Against most of the stuff we hunt? Maybe. But what if we get more angels coming at us? What if we piss Crowley off somehow and he decides to send an army of demons or hellhounds after her? What if Lucifer gets out of his cage again and finds out about her? Do you think she'll be able to stop any of that stuff?”

“We've stopped all that stuff before,” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah, and look at how many bodies have been left in our wake because of it,” Dean snapped, standing to retrieve another beer from the fridge. “She doesn't deserve to die bloody just because someone cast a spell tying her to us.”

Sam looked down at the mark on his arm, unable to respond.

“We need to focus,” Dean said as he dropped back into his chair, suddenly not as harsh. “We need to find something in one of those books, or we need to find out who did this to us. I got a feeling that if we find out who cast this spell on us we'll be able to figure out why and how to reverse it.”

Sam was silent for a moment before deciding to change the subject slightly. “So you're convinced you and I were the target, and Hermione was caught in the cross-hairs?”

“You're not?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“I am,” he assured him. “But we really have no proof...”

“Do we really need it?”

“Okay, so if we were the targets, why?”

“To distract us, maybe?” Dean shrugged.

“From what? At the moment we actually don't have all that much on our plates,” Sam pointed out.

“I don't know, but we're going to have to keep an eye on whatever is happening out there just in case.”

“Maybe we need to think about who might have cast the spell before we try to figure out motive.”

“Crowley?”

“You think  _ Crowley _ might have cast a spell to give us soulmates? Why?”

“Keep our noses out of something he's doing.”

“And you can't think of any other way he might distract us? Maybe sending us out hunting after something? Soulmate doesn't exactly seem like Crowley's style.”

“Okay, then who?” he asked, sounding irritated.

“I'd have to look at the spell to know for certain,” he shrugged. 

“Why?”

“Think about it. You and I use spells on occasion, so some of them can be worked by people with no affinity for magic, while others we have to have someone like that to use. If it's the latter it narrows our scope, but if it's the former...”

“Any yahoo could have done this, and we're looking for a needle in a million haystacks,” Dean finished sharply. “Hey, what about that Becky chick? Maybe she was so convinced that you were her soulmate that she cast the spell and it backfired.”

“Wouldn't she cast the spell on herself? I'm assuming that part of the spell is having something of that person's to cast it with.”

“Dude, you were Britney Spears married to her, she could have gotten some of your hair or something while you were all starry eyed over her.”

“Don't remind me,” he grumbled. “But then where do you come in?”

“Maybe when it activated between you and her I was brought in too because I'm her soulmate, too.”

“I think it more likely that you and I were both targeted.”

“But that would take something from both of us, right? So it narrows down the possibilities.”

“First, I'm not sure if it does, because I don't know the spell, but second no, it really doesn't. Every hotel maid for any place we've stayed would have access and it's not like you and I don't tend to leave blood wherever we go.”

“So you're saying we need to figure out the spell?”

“I'm saying it would help,” Sam nodded.

“Well, I don't exactly think the Men of Letters dealt a lot in soulmate marking spells, so either it's hidden in some corner of this place or we're going to need to find...” Dean trailed off, a sudden realization on his face. “Son of a bitch!” he snapped.

“What?”

“ _ Rowena _ ,” he growled. “That bitch came in here, took one look at the marks, and knew it was a soulmate spell? She didn't even have to look anything up! She knew within two seconds of seeing this word on our arms that it meant we have a soulmate, and that's not suspicious to you at all?”

“It kind of is, now that you mention it,” Sam admitted. 

“Then she sends us off to collect this hagstone, which some psychic just happened to leave for us right outside her door, and then she splits as soon as she possibly can.”

“But for what?” he asked. “Why would she cast a spell binding us to a soulmate?”

“Because it got her in here,” he said. “And then it got us out.”

“But I handcuffed her to the table,” he reminded Dean. “She couldn't magically slip those.”

“You just saw Hermione summon a book from her bag without moving,” Dean pointed out. “Is it outside the realm of possibility that Rowena could do something like that?”

“I guess not,” Sam conceded. “But you do know that now we have to try to figure out what Rowena was after if it really was her.”

“We're just going to have to keep our ears to the ground, at least until we figure out this thing. I don't think those two are going to want to wait for us to go off on a side quest.”

“Okay. Great. So, what do we do about Hermione?”

“For now? We stay the hell away from her,” Dean shot his brother a pointed look. “No kissing, no touching, no hanky panky. Take your doe eyes and stick them in a book. We're researching until we find a solution or until we're sure there's no solution to find.”

Sam smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Did it hurt you to say we're going to do research?”

“A little, yeah,” Dean grumbled.

XXXXXXX

Harry waited until he was sure Sam was gone before tapping his wand to his knapsack, sending his things around the room to put themselves away, though probably not as neatly as if he had done it without magic. Then he opened his door and walked across the hall, knocking once on Hermione's door before entering without waiting for a response. Hermione's things were also put away, much more neatly than his own, and she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at nothing in particular, her bottom lip firmly planted between her teeth.

“Okay, time to talk about it,” Harry smiled, sitting on the bed in front of her. “What do you think about them?”

Hermione gave an awkward smile, one that made Harry know she was carefully guarding her thoughts. “They're attractive, I'll give them that. And Sam seems nice enough.”

“I'll take your word on the first one,” he smiled, moving so he could put a supportive arm around her. “But you're right, Sam does seem nice.”

“I honestly don't know what to think,” she sighed. “I know they're Hunters. Have you seen everything around here? This place isn't benign by any stretch of the imagination. And that alone should make us completely incompatible.”

“True,” he nodded. “But obviously the universe thinks differently.”

“And that's why I'm torn. I know I usually don't go for utter nonsense like anyone claiming they've found their soulmate after two dates and a lackluster shag, but this is so much different. And while I know it's not ideal, part of me doesn't want to find a solution, as mad as that sounds.”

“It does sound a bit mad,” he smiled at her.

“Can we chart this?” she looked up at him.

He sighed dramatically. “You wouldn't be Hermione Granger if you didn't compile a list of some sort. Positives and negatives, then?

She nodded.

“Alright. Positive. They're good looking blokes.”

“I thought you said you were taking my word on that,” she chuckled.

“I lied. They're good looking. For blokes. Your turn.”

“Okay. Positive. I don't have to go on another blind date set up by Molly if I already found my soulmates.”

“Was it really that bad?”

“The last one was one of Percy's mates, and he made Percy look positively enthralling.”

Harry laughed. “Okay, then. Negative. Your career isn't going to go much further if you're seeing two Hunters.”

“You don't think so?”

“You're going to lose lots of votes for Minister if you're with them,” he nodded. “And it's not just the Hunter thing. I know there are triads in our world, but two Muggle brothers? That one is unheard of.”

“You're right,” she sighed.

“For what it's worth, I don't think you'd lose your position. Kingsley won't give a damn, as long as you get your work done. But if you have higher ambitions this could be the scandal that keeps you from that.”

“Alright,” she said to cut him off. “Negative. Brothers.”

“Do you really think that's a problem?”

“Unless they are Fred and George levels of comfortable with each other I can't imagine it not being awkward.”

“Nobody is Fred and George levels of comfortable with their brother,” he shook his head.

“Exactly.”

“Touché.”

“Positive: I can't imagine life being boring if I'm with two Hunters.”

“Depends on what flavor of 'not boring' you're going for. If you prefer your hand on Molly's clock to perpetually be in 'mortal danger' you're right.”

“Are you turning my positive into a negative?” she chuckled.

“Sorry,” he smiled. “My turn. Positive: Dean has at least one woman who is looking for another go, so it can't be all that bad.”

“You're terrible, Harry Potter.”

“Just trying to make the best of the situation.”

She sighed and moved so her head was resting against his chest. “How bad do you think this is, Harry?”

“Well, I don't think it's quite as bad as getting petrified by a basilisk,” he replied lightly before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You are Hermione Granger,” he continued. “You have faced lots of bumps in the road, and you have come out as strong as you are. This may take a little while to figure out, and you might come out of it with two decent looking blokes on your arms, but I know you are going to come out stronger for this experience.”

“Thanks, Harry. And thank you for staying here with me. It's probably best that I'm not left alone with such heavily armed men, at least until we're sure Dean isn't going to pull a gun on me for casting some minor spell.”

“Does this mean that I've got to help you research?”

“This isn't Hogwarts. I can't do all the work and let you copy.”

“The things I do for you,” he smiled.

XXXXXXX

An hour after Sam showed them to their rooms Harry and Hermione emerged and walked back to the library. Sam had already pulled a couple large stacks of books, but Hermione couldn't help but look around.

“I know that look,” Harry sighed. “We're going to have to drag her out of here if we ever want her to sleep, mates.”

“But Harry,” Hermione protested, “everything the Hogwarts library has, I doubt they have a single one of these books.”

“Remember, we're trying to focus here,” he said, grabbing one of the books off the stack next to Sam and thrusting it at her.

She took the book with a huff and dropped into a seat across from Dean, who snorted and shot a look at Sam, who seemed to be suppressing a chuckle himself. Harry got another book for himself and settled into a seat at an open table. Silence spread over the group, and for nearly an hour the only sound was the turning of pages. Dean got restless first, alternating between putting his boots on the table with heavy thuds and slamming books closed and tossing them in a haphazard pile on the floor. His restlessness made Harry start to become restless, starting to drum his fingers on the table and sigh heavily. Sam and Hermione exchanged a look with each new noise, first starting off as annoyed but quickly looking bemused until, as Dean muttered, “Dammit”, under his breath for the fourth time Hermione couldn't help but start to giggle, which in turn made Sam chuckle. Dean shot them both a dirty look before standing and making a beeline for the whiskey bottle.

“Would you like some?” Dean asked Harry.

“Actually...” Harry waved his wand, conjuring up a bottle of amber liquid. “Ogden's Old. Very best, I promise. Care for some?”

Dean looked skeptical, but grabbed a couple of glasses and walked over, leaning against the table as Harry poured. He took the glass and sniffed it before taking a cautious sip.

“Wow,” he muttered, eyebrows shooting up. “That's good stuff.”

“Told you,” Harry smiled.

“Are we getting drunk now?” Sam asked.

“Not until I get some pizza,” Dean replied, standing and pulling his keys out of his pockets. He finished off his glass of firewhisky and headed for the garage. When he was free of the bunker he called for the pizza and started heading towards town. As he drove he repeatedly tried to call both Rowena and Cass, but neither was picking up. He left a couple nasty voicemail messages before throwing his phone onto the passenger seat and stomping on the gas to let off his anger. The woman at the pizza counter was cute, blonde, and flirting with him, and it just got him even more upset that he felt absolutely nothing when just a couple days ago he'd be thanking his lucky stars for such an easy catch. Twice in two days he had willing women coming onto him, and twice he felt absolutely no reaction below his belt- or anywhere else, for that matter. He heard the woman speculate about his sexuality under her breath as he left, and by the time he got back to the Impala he was in his worst mood since this whole mess started. As he climbed in he tossed the pizzas across to the passenger seat, but they didn't hit the seat.

“Dammit, Cass!” he cried, tensing his arm to suppress his natural reaction to punch the intruder.

“You've been calling,” Castiel replied, sounding slightly confused.

“Yes, on the phone. So I wouldn't be mad if you had called. But you just showed up in my car.”

“I saw you called and decided to come and I followed you from the bunker when I saw you leaving. I thought if I entered the car while you were driving you might lose control. You're quite angry today.”

“Yeah, that sort of thing happens when the universe messes with my sex life. Beat me to shit, I don't care. Send me to Hell, I'll deal. But force chastity on me...”

“You have a soulmate,” Cass replied, matter-of-factly. 

“Which is why I've been calling. I need you to work some of your angel voodoo and fix this.”

“How do you expect me to fix you having a soulmate?”

“I don't know, you've done bigger things than this. Heal these marks off us or something.”

“Taking the marks off you would not change the fact that she is your soulmate. That's not how having a soulmate works. I don't have the power to change the fact that you and your soulmate match each other...”

“Then take away the power of this mark, or whatever spell bound us. I thought free will was a thing, give us back ours.”

“A soulmate is a rare gift, Dean. Not everyone has one.”

“And none of them deserve to be thrust into the lifestyle. And don't try to tell me something like she could take us out of this life, you know it's never going to leave us alone until we're dead for the last time. Hermione shouldn't have to deal with that.”

“Hermione?” Cass muttered, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Yeah, Hermione Granger.”

“I've heard mention of that name, but I'm not sure where.”

“She's a witch, Cass,” Dean grumbled. “Not like the ones we hunt. But she seems somewhat important in her world. Was in some war and a big-shot in their government.”

Cass had a concerned look on his face, but looked out the windshield and said nothing.

“There's got to be something you can do, Cass. The last thing she needs is Sam and my baggage.”

“Sam  _ and _ yours?” he looked at Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean snapped. “Sam and I share a soulmate, because just having a soulmate isn't fucked up enough, we're supposed to share a woman...” he looked over and Castiel had disappeared, the pizza now resting where he had been. “Son of a bitch,” he growled.

XXXXXXX

By late that night research had been abandoned in favor of telling each other funny stories. Dean had given a rather cruel, but spot-on impression of Sam losing his shoe, Sam retaliating with a re-telling of Dean “screaming like a ten year old” because of a cat, Harry mimicking Hermione's incessant bouncing in her seat when trying to get a professor's attention, and Hermione coldly retaliating by saying, “at least I can't describe my first kiss as 'wet',” which caused Dean to snort his firewhisky. Harry retired first, heading to his bedroom where Hermione knew he was about to send drunken, possibly lewd, patronus messages to Ginny. Dean went next, saying if he had to spend another minute looking at books he would lose his mind, leaving Hermione and Sam alone with one last warning glance at his brother.

“One more before bed?” she asked, holding up the mostly empty bottle.

“Probably shouldn't, but sure,” he smiled, sitting across from her. “So, you were the teacher's pet type?”

“In image only,” she replied, pouring the last of the drink into their two glasses. “Hanging around with Harry and Ron sort of lead me down the rule breaking path more than it probably should have. I'm probably only alive because my professor never knew I was the one who set him on fire in my first year.”

Sam burst out laughing, finally managing, “You can't leave the story at that!”

“The short of it is Harry was being jinxed while riding on his broom during a game of Quidditch... it's a sport wizards and witches play on brooms, ask Harry if you want an explanation because I'm not going into details now. Anyways, he was being jinxed, someone was trying to use magic to throw him off his broom, and because this professor was a massive cantankerous prat I assumed it was him, and when I looked it  _ looked _ like he was whispering a jinx and maintaining eye contact which is important in jinxing someone. So I, in an attempt to help my friend, made my way over to his side of the bleachers, hid behind him, and set fire to his robes to distract him. It was a special kind of fire, not the type that would have  _ hurt _ him, I just wanted to give him enough of a fright to get him to stop casting the jinx so Harry could get to the ground safely.”

“So, did it work?” he asked, smiling.

“Well...” she bit her lip. “The thing is he was actually whispering the  _ counter- _ jinx and was the whole reason Harry was still on his broom.”

Sam started laughing again. “But obviously Harry made it through.”

“The professor I set on fire knocked into the one who was casting the jinx, causing him to break eye contact so, really, I saved the day.”

“And that's what really matters, right?” he smiled.

“Okay, your turn,” she smiled. “Tell me of your heroics.”

“Nah, when we save the day it usually is pretty bloody and starts out sad,” he replied, his face falling a little. “We have funny moments, like the porn-loving, drunk, suicidal teddy bear, but most of the time it's really not all that funny.”

She was looking wide-eyed at him, her glass halfway to her lips. “Wait, you just said 'porn-loving, drunk, suicidal teddy bear' and you expect me  _ not _ to ask?”

“There was this town where the wishing well actually worked, except the wishes all went bad. So a little girl wished her teddy bear was alive, and it came to life and immediately had an epic existential crisis. We probably wouldn't have even been there if we had any other case to go on, but things were quiet and there was supposedly a ghost haunting a women's locker room which piqued Dean's interest.”

“He does seem a bit of a lady's man,” she replied softly.

“Yeah, he is,” he nodded. “But, to be fair, neither of us really believed in anything like a soulmate. And Dean has long believed that he's going to die young and, therefore, doesn't think that having a long-term relationship with a woman is a good idea or fair to her. He did try it a couple times, once when I... wasn't around for a while, but it ended pretty much the way he thought it would where she and her son got caught up in all this crap we deal with and it kind of reaffirmed his belief that it's best for him and for the women he's interested in if he limits all interactions to one night.”

“I guess this is putting a bit of a damper on his style,” she bit her lip.

“This, in the grand scheme of everything we've dealt with, is actually one of the better moments,” he assured her. “Dean's fighting it like hell because he doesn't want you hurt, and he doesn't want to be attached if we do find a way to break this off and you run back to London. If there isn't a way, he'll eventually come around. You're a great girl and I'm kind of glad you've come into our lives, even if you're not staying too long.”

Hermione smiled shyly, still biting her lip and fighting a flush coming across her cheeks. “I think you're a pretty good man, too, Sam. And, who knows? Maybe even if we aren't connected through this soulmate thing it would be nice to keep in touch.”

“I would sincerely like that,” he smiled at her, and Hermione felt butterflies come to life in her stomach. 

“You know, it wouldn't hurt to have a good witch on your side.”

“A good witch,” he smirked. “Do you travel in a bubble and everything?”

“Oh, yes, but I left my big, sparkling crown at home,” she replied without missing a beat. “It's rather cumbersome, you know. Too bad we didn't know each other a few years ago, I know a few witches who could have used a house dropped on their heads.”

“Life would be a bit easier if the bad witches all got green skin.”

“My friends, Fred and George, have a sweet for that. Which reminds me, never take sweets from them. Unless you feel like getting turned into a giant bird or something.”

“I will remember that,” he chuckled as the clock chimed one in the morning. 

Hermione sighed and eyed the stack of books they still needed to go through. “I should probably get some sleep if I'm going to be any help with that tomorrow.”

“I'll walk you to your room,” Sam replied, standing up.

“It's just down the hall, and this place has more wards than I've ever seen in my life. I'm pretty sure I'm safe.”

“I know, but I should probably go to bed, too. And it's on the way,” he said as they started to make their way towards the living quarters.

“Well, thank you, then,” she said, stumbling a bit. He caught her and hooked an arm around her to steady her as they walked.

“You alright?” he asked.

“I'm not usually a big drinker, but it is a special occasion. How often does a girl find out she has two soulmates?”

“I'm guessing not every day,” he replied with a smile.

“Though, really, it's not all that bad,” she said, looking up to study him. “Even if you were prats, you'd be good-looking prats, and you seem downright nice, Sam.”

“Well, um...” he cleared his throat, now his turn to fight a blush from coming across his face. “I, uh.... Thank you. You are a good-looking non-prat yourself.”

They stopped outside her room and she opened the door, then turned around to look at him.

“Do you need any more help?” he asked.

She smirked, glancing behind her before looking back up at him. “It may have been a while, but I'm not so desperate as to invite you in quite this quickly,” she said softly.

This time he couldn't fight the flush, and he let off a nervous chuckle.

“Good night, Sam,” she said, taking a step backwards into her room.

“Good night, Hermione,” he replied as she closed the door. 


	3. Skeletons in the Closet

When Dean got up the next day it was to the scent of frying meat and eggs. He got dressed quickly and headed to the kitchen, where Hermione was busy cooking, placing portions on four plates as she finished them. By the amount of food she had already cooked, Dean could guess she was erring on the side of caution, making more than necessary. He let a smile cross his face for a moment, feeling a little touched that she had thought to try to make such a good impression. In his mind he and Sam should be the ones trying to impress  _ her _ . After all, she was important in her world, somewhat of a celebrity even, and he and Sam had, at the moment, less than a thousand dollars to their names and a trail of destruction in their wake. He took advantage of the fact that she hadn't noticed him looking at her to take another look. The day before she had been dressed as he would expect a lawyer to dress: tailored pantsuit, carefully applied makeup, hair tamed in a bun. She seemed to decide that, given the casual appearance of her soulmates, she didn't need to try quite so hard, and was wearing a pair of jeans and a pullover shirt, no makeup, and her hair pulled back into a ponytail, the curls exploding below the elastic in to what one might describe as 'organized chaos in hair firm'. In Dean's mind she looked much better that way, which was exciting and problematic all at the same time. If she were still dressed more formally he could more easily convince himself she was completely out of his league, but this version was warm and approachable. He was about to enter the room when he heard someone getting up from the table, and he instinctively stepped back, out of line of sight, but he could still hear their conversation.

“Have I told you yet that you look like shit this morning?” Hermione asked.

“Every time I have firewhiskey I swear it's the last time and every time I lie,” Harry replied, grabbing a slice of bacon and leaning against the counter. “Merlin, how the Americans call this bacon is beyond me, it's all fat.”

“I know, but the only place I could think to go was back to that tiny market, and this is what they had,” she replied. “It's so thin they're all coming out a bit crispy.”

“It's food and that's all I care about right now. How was your night?” he asked.

“Not bad,” she replied.

“How late did you stay up?”

“Sam and I had another drink, then he made sure I got to bed alright.”

“Did he now?” Dean could hear the curiosity in Harry's voice while his own stomach dropped. 

_ Dammit, Sam, _ he thought. He had told him only a few hours prior not to get too close, and he hadn't even made it a night?

“It's not what you're thinking,” Hermione replied, and Dean felt relief flooding over him. “He offered to walk me to my room, and I told him I wasn't about to invite him in that quickly.”

“Good,” Harry breathed. 

“You sound surprised.”

“You and Sam seem to be getting along rather famously. I thought maybe there was something about being soulmates that might have helped things along.”

“Merlin knows I thought about it,” she replied softly. “They're both good looking men, and it has been a while. But I don't want to muddle things anymore than they already are. If it were just Sam and I it may be different, if that makes sense. But I still don't think Dean likes me, and the last thing I want to do is to get tangled with his brother while he's trying to get rid of me.”

Dean frowned. So Sam hadn't worked his magic, but it sounded like it was only a matter of time. Hermione was right, of course, he was trying to get rid of her, but not because he didn't like her. Quite the opposite, actually. He liked her enough he didn't want her hurt, and knew that if she stayed with them it would happen at some point. But there was no good way to explain that to her without sounding like he was trying to get her out the door as quickly as possible.

“Do you think he still has a problem with you being a witch?”

“I'd be surprised if he didn't,” she shrugged as her teakettle started to whistle. “He's hated witches probably as long as he can remember, I can't imagine that changed overnight.”

Dean scowled again. While it was true he still had a problem with her being called 'witch' he realized that he had quickly gotten over it. If someone had told him this time yesterday that his soulmate was a witch he'd be digging for the witch-killing bullets and preparing himself to shoot on sight, but Hermione had already brought out his protective side. And that was dangerous. If she could get him to change his mind that quickly he was in danger of getting attached, just like his brother was.

“I was going to ask, do you mind if I pop home for a little bit today? Ginny said the boys are asking where I went and it's Percy's birthday, so Molly is getting the family together.”

“Of course,” she responded brightly. “Wouldn't want you to miss out on all the thrills of Percy Weasley's birthday. But are you sure you didn't need to respond three weeks ago in triplicate form?”

Harry laughed. “Oh, shut it. I know he's not the most interesting brother but it's never been a bad time. And, of course, Molly's cooking.”

“I will miss that,” she sighed.

“I'm sure she'll send some right along... unless you don't want me to mention where you've gone?”

There was silence as Hermione considered for a moment. “No, it's best to tell her the truth. But stress that we're looking for a way to sever whatever bond is between us, so there's a good chance she'll never meet my soulmates.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea? If you do sever the bond...”

“They'll still be my soulmates, won't they? It's hard to want to give that up. I almost wonder if there wasn't a reason for all this.”

“You're getting dangerously close to talking divination there, mate,” he chuckled. “Are you sure you'll be alright if I go home for a bit?”

“I don't think they're going to hurt me, and I doubt we'll be doing anything but research while you're gone.”

“Well, I wouldn't want to be here for that. I think I did more research yesterday than I did all first year.”

“What would you do without me, Potter?” she chuckled.

“I wouldn't have made it this far,” he said, and Dean decided the conversation had died enough that it was safe for him to enter the room. As he did so he saw Harry grabbing a few more things and placing them on a plate.

“Morning,” Harry said when he saw Dean, and Hermione looked up and caught Dean's eyes.

“Smells delicious in here,” Dean flashed her a smile, and he saw a hint of color tinge Hermione's cheeks.

“Thank you,” she said. “Help yourself, I think I made enough.”

“Oh, do I smell breakfast?” Sam asked, coming into the room. “Looks delicious, thank you,” he shot her a smile, and Dean noticed her flush deepened and she bit her lip.

“I hope it's alright,” she said. “I went to the shop and got what they had that might be good for breakfast.”

“Really, thank you,” he nodded. 

“Tea or coffee?” she asked. “I just took the kettle off for my tea, so the water hasn't cooled too much...”

“I'll make some coffee, you sit down,” he smiled, placing a hand on the small of her back to encourage her to move. A look of excitement crossed over Hermione's face, and Dean suppressed another scowl. Hermione and Sam had the kind of chemistry some people could only dream of. If he wanted to keep them apart he was going to have to babysit them, because he was sure if they were left alone too long they would throw caution to the wind and act upon that chemistry. And, if history had taught him anything about his brother, once he got too close to Hermione Sam wouldn't want to let her go, and Dean wouldn't have much of an argument against the relationship. In fact, it would probably be very difficult for him to even try to talk Sam out of something that made him happy. With Harry leaving, the job of keeping them apart fell to him, which meant no more running out for food just to get away from everything for a few moments.

Harry announced his departure to the brothers about ten minutes before he left, and Hermione, Sam, and Dean retreated into the library where they took up their silent researching roles again. They worked through lunch without anyone even suggesting a break, and Dean only left Sam and Hermione alone long enough to retrieve the occasional drink or use the bathroom, though he realized that, as long as they were on task, he didn't need to worry about them as he was sure he could drive the Impala through the room and they'd still be working. By the time dinnertime came and went, Dean found himself getting frustrated and irritable once again, and the bunker started feeling more and more like a prison as the day drew on.

“Alright, we're going out,” he announced as he slammed a book closed and tossed it in the general direction of the pile that they had already searched, knocking over Hermione's carefully-stacked books. She didn't even look up as she flicked her wand, reassembling the stack, before finishing her page and marking it as she closed the book without an objection. Even Sam didn't argue, a testament to how long the day had been. He closed his book as well and stood up, stretching. 

“Where are we going?” Sam asked.

“Somewhere where the beer is cheap and the food is greasy,” Dean replied, leading the way towards the garage. As they approached the Impala he noticed Sam was analyzing the car, and Dean was sure he was trying to decide if he should take the backseat with Hermione or if that would be too obvious and he should sit up front. But to his surprise he opened the passenger door and motioned for Hermione to sit. Dean looked at him questioningly as Hermione sat and Sam closed the door, and Sam shot him a smile. Dean had to tighten his jaw as he realized his brother was going to try to get him to spend as much time with Hermione as possible, which more than likely meant that Sam was either starting to give up and accept their fate and was now trying to get Dean to see the same, or he was trying to bridge the gap between Dean and Hermione because he saw a future with her either way. He refrained from sighing in frustration as he dropped into the driver's seat and brought the car to life. He was very careful to pick a place that he knew, but minimized the chances of him running into a former flame. As it was a Tuesday the place wasn't very crowded, so they were able to get in and sit at a table with no problem. Dean was relieved when their waitress was an older woman who seemed more interested in Hermione than either of the men at the table, and they were able to order from the menu of almost exclusively fried food without him being embarrassed again. As they ate they exchanged some stories of creatures they had encountered. 

“Wait, your  _ school _ brought dragons _ , _ like full-on, fire-breathing, flying, roaring dragons, onto the grounds and sent  _ students _ to deal with them alone?” Sam looked surprised after Hermione mentioned the First Task of the Triwizard tournament. “Did they just not give a damn if someone was killed there?”

“Someone did die,” she murmured. “Murdered by Voldemort during the final task.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Hermione took a moment to compose herself, but managed a small smile.

“The dragons were only on the grounds for a few hours,” she finally said. “The mermaids and centaurs were around full-time.”

“The  _ what  _ and the  _ what _ ?” Dean slammed his beer down, trying to keep himself from making a mess in his surprise.

“Centaurs and mermaids,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. 

“And you just had them hanging around your school?”

“We actually had a centaur as a teacher for a year.”

“Really?”

“Of course. He taught Divination, which centaurs are brilliant at if you care more about the big picture and not individual fortunes. They can read the skies better than anyone. I didn't have him because I ditched Divination years earlier. If you really are curious about supernatural beings teaching, the longest-running professor in the school was a ghost.”

“A ghost?” Sam started chuckling. 

“Ghosts in the wizarding world, that is, ghosts of witches and wizards, are much different than those you two probably deal with. They retain their minds, so they can have meaningful conversations or teach classes, even if they are dreadfully boring classes.”

“You were taught by a ghost,” he pointed out. “How boring could that be?”

“I was taught by a ghost who didn't realize he was dead, and I'm not sure he realizes to this day. Imagine the type who could manage that. I'm pretty sure he teaches to an empty room in the summer and doesn't even realize the difference.”

“Centaurs and ghosts,” Dean muttered before taking a drink.

“And a half giant. And Flitwick had some goblin blood in him, though it was pretty distant.”

“What? No vampires or werewolves available?”

Hermione's face hardened and she straightened up. Dean seemed to realize his mistake and shot a look at Sam, won looked surprised at Hermione's sudden change in demeanor.

“What did I say?” Dean asked.

“Remus Lupin was one of the bravest men I ever had the pleasure of knowing. He was also the best Defense professor I ever had. I knew you would have a problem with them, American werewolves are from a different bloodline and act much different than the ones we have, but he was also one of the kindest persons I've ever known and only hurt people who threatened those he loved or felt the need to protect. I'll ask you not to use the word 'werewolf' with such disgust around me.”

“I've seen too many bodies missing their hearts to have any other opinion,” he shot back before taking another drink.

“Who is up for a game of cutthroat?” Sam asked quickly, sensing an argument about to happen. He nodded towards an open pool table.

“Sure,” Dean shot another look at Hermione and sauntered over, grabbing a triangle off the wall and starting to rack the balls. Hermione hesitated, eyes narrowing at Dean, before looking at Sam and reluctantly following as Sam gave her a quick rundown of the rules.

“Do you play often?” Hermione asked Sam.

“You could say that,” he replied with a smile. “Sometimes we hustle pool when we need some quick cash. Hunter's lifestyle, you know. Costs money to keep moving and with nothing coming in from the job we have to survive somehow.”

“From what I remember from your files you've engaged in more than a bit of credit card fraud,” she raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he replied sheepishly. “But, in our defense...”

“What files?” Dean demanded.

“MACUSA, they're like our Ministry but for this country, keeps track of Hunters because you lot have a tendency to get close to our world and they'd like to keep you from it,” she replied.

“And you've seen our files?”

“Obviously. When I found out my soulmates were most likely Hunters I figured it was a good idea to tailor my approach in order to not get killed the moment we met.”

“Yeah, sweetheart? Is that why you brought the posse?”

“I thought seeing five wizards with me might cause you to pause before shooting. Did it not work?”

He glared at her for a moment. “What is in our file?”

“Not nearly everything. Muggle crimes you've committed. Times you started hunting something that MACUSA was either already hunting or about to hunt, so they backed off. Times you got close enough to our world you made them nervous, and they either had to take someone away from you or create a diversion to get you away.”

“How often has that happened?” he snapped.

“A few times,” she admitted.

“So, we've had these witches and wizards watching us for years, but they've never stepped in? Where were you guys during some of the things we've had to fight on our own? Where were witches and wizards when there were hundreds of demons running around or during the goddamn Apocalypse-”

“Hiding!” she snapped through clenched teeth. “Because we've had to for hundreds of years. It wasn't always that witches and wizards needed to hide from Muggles, but Muggles got greedy. They demanded things we couldn't do, and when we didn't they started hunting us down and tried to kill us when they found us. And they didn't care how many innocent lives were taken in their hunts. The witches and wizards in charge decided we'd all go into hiding and make sure we stay there, lest something like that happen again. Judging by your reaction it was probably a very good idea.”

“If the world is ending you are going down with it,” he snapped.

“And if we stop it we're back at square one, with Muggles wanting us to stop things we can't. Do you honestly think I have more magic than everything you deal with?”

He glared at her.

“Alright, enough,” Sam finally said, stepping between them. “We probably shouldn't be talking about some of this stuff in a bar, even if it's not that crowded. Hermione, would you like to break?” he asked, holding a stick out to her. She grabbed it and walked over to the table, then looked around, looked back at Dean, and a smirk came across her face. She hit the cue ball into the others, which all bounced around the table until they fell into the pockets, leaving only the cue ball and the eight ball still on the table.

“Cute,” Dean grumbled, retrieving the balls and racking them again. “How about next time we do it without the hocus pocus crap?”

“Fine,” she replied, bending over the table to line her shot. Dean looked at Sam, and saw his brother admiring Hermione's ass as she leaned over. He hit his brother in the chest with a cue. Sam let off a grunt and looked at his brother in surprise. 

“Pay attention to the game,” Dean ordered before flagging down a waitress to order another round.

Sam looked at him incredulously before breaking into chuckles.

Dean shot him a look before stepping up to the table. He took out his frustration with his brother by aiming at Sam's numbered balls, easily sinking three before missing. Sam retaliated, getting two of Dean's in before Hermione got one of each. After one quick game and another round of drinks Dean started to feel some of the weight lifting off him. He found himself joining in as Hermione and Sam started cracking innuendo jokes about balls and sticks, and as the night rolled on he would finally admit that he was having more fun than he had in a long while. Hermione was one of those players who got better after a couple drinks, and while she wasn't nearly as good as Sam and Dean she made up for it by dropping distracting remarks and, for Sam especially, being physically distracting. Even Dean found himself looking down her shirt a couple times and admiring the curve of her ass as she bent over to take her shots. For the first time since everything went down he felt himself stirring below the belt. Realizing how dangerous that thinking was he suggested they quit for the night, the bar was mostly empty and the waitress was eyeing them as though her glare could move them along and get her out early. As they drove back to the bunker Hermione sang along softly with the radio as Sam could hardly keep his eyes off her. Dean made sure Sam and Hermione got to bed in their own rooms before retiring to his own, and his last thought before falling asleep was that, if there was no way to break their connection, being with Hermione was looking like a better prospect with each passing day.

XXXXXXX

_ He stood still, staring at the door as anyone might stare down an old enemy. But how many people had such a negative viewpoint of a piece of wood? How many people knew and hated every nick in the paint, every smudge of dirt, every dent on each of the numbers? He had seen that door more than a thousand times, both in life and in his dreams, and each time he eventually went through it, but why? He knew what was on the other side, knew what he would see, knew the pain it would cause in his chest. What would happen if he just stayed out here, on this abandoned street, staring at that damnable piece of wood until he finally woke up? _

_ Sighing, he forced himself forward, hand wrapping around the tarnished door handle, and let himself inside. He walked through the darkened front room, everything that had once been so familiar no longer distinguishable as his memories of the place faded. He could still see his stack of books, where he had left them in order to help his studies when he returned, ready to take his test and continue the life he had built away from his family. Those books taunted him, represented the life he should have had, a life without monsters and yellow-eyed demons and multiple apocalypse-level events. A life where Heaven and Hell were just intangible, a threat or a reward for how a life was lived. How strange it was, now, that the girl who had come into his life and turned it upside down had followed the same path he had once been on. But her path hadn't been upended by a plot forged in Hell when she wasn't even out of diapers. And yet, he realized, it almost had been. By another kind of monster with red eyes, a man who thought absolutely nothing of her, who would have been happy to see her dead and probably would have killed her before she ever knew she was a witch because her name appeared on a registry at Hogwarts, but who had no grandiose plans that would see her causing catastrophe on a global scale. A monster that forced her to fight in a war, to watch people she loved die, before Sam had even graduated high school. _

_ Taking a deep breath he continued through the room, coming to the bedroom. She was standing where she always stood, the gash already opened across her abdomen, but at this point she never gave that much mind. She smiled at him as her blood soaked the front of her white nightgown, and she stood and approached him. _

_ “You look sad,” she said softly, reaching up to cup his face, but he couldn't feel her touch. He never could feel it, as much as he desperately wanted to.  _

_ “I always am when I'm here,” he replied softly. _

_ “Why would you be sad right now?” she smiled. “You have her.” _

_ “It should have been you.” _

_ “Have you learned nothing from getting this?” she asked, taking his arm and turning it so the 'mudblood' mark was facing up. “You were never mine.” _

_ “Yes, I was,” he protested. _

_ “No. I might have been right then, but this was inevitable. There's a reason you have a soulmate and there's a reason you found each other right now.” _

_ “Why?” he asked sharply. “Why Hermione? Why now?” _

_ “That's just one of those things that you're going to have to find out,” she grinned. “But trust that it's for the best.” _

_ “It would be best for her if she was able to leave and never look back.” _

_ “That's because you and Dean have convinced yourself you can't be happy,” she chastised. “You've convinced yourself that anyone who gets too close is in danger, and therefore you need to sacrifice your happiness to keep them safe.” _

_ “Look at what happens to people who get close to us,” he snapped, motioning at her bloody abdomen. _

_ “This one is different,” she assured him. _

_ “Why would you think that?” _

_ “Because she is destined for you, and you for her,” she replied. “You know you are, you already feel it. You can't stop looking at her, your heart is lighter when you are with her, and for the first time in a long time you're feeling hope.” _

_ “And happiness,” he admitted guiltily. _

_ “That's a good thing,” she assured him firmly. “Now you just need to let me go.” _

_ “I can't,” he replied, his voice was thick with pain. _

_ “You can,” she assured him. “I only exist here, in your dreams. You know where I went long ago, you knew the moment you found out angels were real. I'm there. I'm happy. My pain has long been over. It's time for your pain to be over as well,” she finished as she slowly started getting pulled upwards. _

_ “No, Jess...” he begged. _

_ “Goodbye, Sam,” Jess smiled one more time before the flames bloomed around her. _

Sam bolted upright as he left sleep behind, his chest heaving as the smell of burning lingered around him for a moment and disappeared. It took him a couple minutes to get enough control of his breathing that he felt he could move on to the next part- forcing his limbs to move. He shakily got out of bed and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, which woke him enough that his body finally felt under his control. Unable to look at his reflection he left the bathroom and wandered into the hallway, thinking of going to get a drink of water from the kitchen to soothe his parched throat. But as he approached the kitchen he heard the sound of a radio playing a song he had never heard before, and it was coming from the library. Curious he followed the sound, and found Hermione sitting at one of the tables, a large book open in front of her, but her glassed over eyes betrayed that she wasn't taking in the words. For a moment he debated whether or not he should disturb her, but his body seemed to act on its own accord.

“You alright?” he asked, stepping into the room. 

“Oh!” she let off a noise of surprise and jumped, but there was a smile on her face as she turned to look at him. She looked tired, there were dark circles under her eyes that made him doubt that she had gotten any sleep, and a quick glance at the clock showed it was three in the morning. “Um, yes, I'm alright,” she answered.

“What are you listening to?” he asked, motioning to the old-fashioned record player she had sitting on the table near her.

“The Weird Sisters. They're a wizard rock band I'm rather fond of. I thought I had kept it down, I'm sorry for disturbing you.”

“No, it wasn't disturbing me,” he assured her, sitting in the chair next to her. “I was going to get a drink of water and I overheard it. I didn't expect to see you in the library at this hour.”

“I couldn't sleep,” she admitted. “I mean, I got a little sleep, but not much, and I thought maybe if I came in here and did some reading I might distract myself enough to get tired again.”

“Nightmare?” he guessed.

She nodded. “I don't get them nearly as often as I used to, but still often enough that I'm used to sleepless nights. I've got a feeling you understand,” she added, studying him.

He nodded, but didn't say anything.

“Monsters?” she guessed.

“I could handle monsters,” he replied softly. “Just a couple very low points in my life,” he offered, the only explanation he was willing to give at three in the morning. It would be difficult enough for him to tell her about Jess and his time in the cage, but she didn't need to know that until she was rested enough to process the information. “Are your nightmares about the battle you were in?” he asked.

“Not always,” she said, and he saw her left arm flex. “But some.”

Silence fell over them as Sam felt a desire to comfort her, but he had no idea how to go about it or how she would react, so he kept his hands to himself.

“Do you get nightmares often?” she asked.

“Enough that I don't have what would be considered a healthy sleep schedule.”

“If you'd like I could contact Harry and ask him to bring some Dreamless Sleep potion when he comes back. He can't bring more than a night or two's worth, it's very addictive stuff, but you'll at least get rested.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. She looked uneasily back at the book, a hint of color on her cheeks. “Do you know that from experience?” he asked.

She looked up at him, as if she were debating the answer, which was answer enough. “Yes,” she whispered her confession. She was silent for a long moment, then continued, “After the Battle I went to the Burrow to get away from everything, and I slept about sixteen hours straight. Just nothing, no dreams, nothing of that sort. And that was the last good sleep I got for a month. Every time I closed my eyes I saw someone dying, or Bellatrix was sitting astride me, taunting me with her knife. I was lucky if I could get two hours sleep a night. And I held out, thinking that as time went on, when the funerals stopped and when life went back to normal, that I would be able to rest enough to get a decent sleep again. But I just couldn't. I found myself nodding off whenever given some time to myself, but waking up screaming not too long after. I moved out of the Burrow to avoid upsetting the Weasleys, and moved into Grimmauld Place where I could put a silencing charm on the room. And eventually I started having other effects from not getting enough sleep, irritability at first, but eventually hallucinations. 

“So I got some Dreamless Sleep. I knew it was addictive, but I rationalized it to myself. Just one night, just two drops. I needed just one night of good sleep and things would get better. And they did. One night of sleeping and the next day I was pleasant, and I didn't have a hallucination. I went to visit for the first time in weeks, and everyone commented on how good I looked and how happy I seemed. So I rationalized using it another night. Just one more, right? And the next day I got things done, things I hadn't dared do while I was so sleep deprived. I re-enrolled in school, I visited Hagrid, I went shopping, and I went on a date with Ron. And it felt so good. Ron especially made me feel so wonderful. And so I took it another night, knowing he had a day planned for us the next day and I thought I just couldn't be exhausted. Every day it was something else, another excuse to use those two drops. 

“Except I realized rather quickly two wasn't doing it. It would make me tired, but I wouldn't actually go to sleep and if I did the nightmares were starting to creep back in. So I added another drop, and that was the ticket. I never told anyone, and was able to put on enough of a facade that no one suspected anything. But I couldn't keep it up, not once Ron stayed over one night about another month later. Dreamless sleep is pretty much instantaneous, so he would have seen me taking it. So I stowed it safely away and managed to fall asleep on my own. The nightmares were horrendous. And it got Ron upset, because he thought that I was doing okay. He wanted me to go to St. Mungos, to talk to someone, but I refused because I didn't want to admit to anyone I had been using Dreamless Sleep. So I avoided having him over again, using more and more of the potion to get some sleep. I went back to school with a hidden stash. But I quickly ran out, and tried to go without. It only took three nights of terrible nightmares before I started nicking some from Madam Pomfrey, the nurse. Somehow no one suspected anything until I went to the Burrow for Christmas, and by then I couldn't even fall asleep on my own. The hallucinations came back. It was impossible for others not to notice. And yet I insisted I was okay, that I was speaking to someone and working through it, that it was perfectly normal for someone who had my experiences. I got quite cross and defensive when anyone dared question me. On Christmas Eve I got into a row with Harry and Ron, and took a room at the Leaky Cauldron where I took enough to keep me asleep for a good long time. 

“That was enough for me to fake it through the rest of the holiday, and when I got back I immediately started using the potion again. I stayed at the castle for the Easter holidays, claiming I needed to study, but really it was because, at that point, I couldn't sleep without the potion and I was using that to my advantage, only sleeping every three days while using the other two to study all night for my NEWTs. Of course it was all justified in my mind when I passed them, but moving back for the summer it became impossible to hide my addiction. The year prior Harry, Ron, and I had avoided most of the publicity due to dealing with the aftermath of the war, but that next summer we really had no excuse. The books were out, we were in demand, and we traveled the world telling our stories. And Harry and Ron quickly realized what I had been up to. But, because we were such good mates, they weren't sure how to approach me, and they let it go on for a few weeks. When they finally confronted me it caused a massive row,. But they were persistent. They loved me enough to not give up. Harry hired one of the best healers, and I was put into St. Mungos for a month to recover. When I came out I just wanted to go home. Ron was enjoying the life of celebrity too much, and we broke it off. The stress of it nearly sent me back to the potion, so I took a job and threw myself into it. And that's what I've been doing since.”

Sam was studying her face, feeling incredibly connected in that moment, but not sure how to say it. “I won't take you up on your offer, then,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, and to his relief she smiled.

“So, what was your vice?” she asked.

He looked at her in surprise.

“You were a bit too knowing when you asked what my addiction was. You don't have to tell me if you don't want, but I am here if you want to talk.”

“Demon blood,” he replied, surprising himself on how quickly he admitted it.

To Hermione's credit the only response she gave was a slight uptwitch of an eyebrow. He had expected her to recoil in horror or disgust, or for her face to fall into that judgmental look people get when they suddenly realize how flawed the person they're talking to is. But Hermione's eyes remained sympathetic, and though he could tell she was a little curious he knew he would have to be the one to continue because she wasn't going to ask.

“Back when I first started hunting with Dean I started getting these psychic visions. They were a complete mystery for some time until I discovered it was a side-effect from when Azazel, the yellow-eyed demon, fed me demon blood as a baby the night he killed my mom. I wasn't the only one he did this to, and eventually he pitted all the children he had 'created' against each other in a death match of sorts, where the winner was supposed to open the gates of Hell, let an army of demons out, and lead them in a war here on Earth. I was stabbed in the back during this, and I died.”

He paused, waiting for a reaction from Hermione, but her expression hadn't changed, as if speaking to someone who had died and came back was an everyday occurrence to her, so he continued. “Dean went and made a demon deal, his soul for my life, with his soul being collected after just one year. I did everything I could that year, eventually confronting the demon I had been told had his contract, but it didn't work. She sicced a hellhound on him and tried to kill me, but that didn't work, either, and she smoked out before I could kill her. So I spent the next four months living for revenge. A demon, Ruby, convinced me that I could use my abilities to exorcise demons without harming the hosts, and fed me demon blood to help me with that. And I quickly got addicted, both to the blood and the feeling that I was saving people by getting the demons out of them. And so Ruby pushed me further, telling me if I drank more blood I could not only exorcise, but kill the demons, and I wasn't about to say no to that. Dean came back and he tried to stop me. He and Bobby, who was like our surrogate father, even kept me prisoner to detox me. But the whole time I was obsessed with catching Lilith and killing her. At the time I thought it was the way to stop the apocalypse. It wasn't until it was too late that I realized that I had been lied to, and had inadvertently set Lucifer free. That was... It was hard to live with. I tried everything I could to keep from going back to demon blood, I even stopped hunting for a while, but eventually I decided the only way to really stop was to fix what I had started. And, in that, I had to ingest a ton of the stuff to let Lucifer possess me with enough of my mind intact that I could trap him back in his cage.

“Once I came back... that is, once I had my soul back, I still have moments where I want the stuff. Every time I kill a demon I wonder if I could have saved the person they're possessing if I could just go back to it and start using those powers again. But I know I can't, hell, I don't even know if I could mentally exorcise a demon anymore even if I did drink the stuff. But I do know that if I go down that road again there's no coming back, I'll be a monster forever.”

Hermione's hand found his arm, and her eyes were supportive. “I see where you get the nightmares,” she said softly. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Sam was in awe of her in that moment, he had just confessed to having not only let Lucifer free, but also having been possessed by him and losing his soul in the process, and yet she only looked concerned for him. She didn't seem to pity him, didn't dismiss him as a terrible person, and didn't chastise him for his stupidity. Even Dean, for as much as he loved and cared for his brother, still couldn't talk about some of his mistakes without anger flashing in his eyes or bitterness tainting his voice. Sam knew in that moment he really was Hermione's, that he couldn't give her up no matter how much Dean told him to stay away from her. Without thinking he leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. When she immediately started kissing him back he wrapped a hand in her hair to hold her to him. Kissing Hermione was not like kissing anyone before her; there was an almost instinctive knowledge of each other, mouths opening together, tongues meeting as though they had kissed a thousand times before. He shifted to the end of his chair and pulled her forward, and she seamlessly landed astride his lap, not seeming to mind her knees digging into the arms of the chair. His hands wandered her back as she held tightly to his shoulder with one hand and ran her fingers through his hair with the other. 

When she leaned back to catch her breath he moved his lips down her chin to her neck, gently sucking at her pulse points and relishing in the shaky breath she drew in as he did. He moved his hands down, cupping her rear with his hands and pulling her up against him, and she could feel his erection straining through the flannel pajama pants he was wearing. Settling her tightly against him he slid his hands back up, moving under the oversized t-shirt she was wearing, feeling the smooth skin of her back and her muscles tensing in anticipation underneath his fingertips. He lifted his hands further up, dragging the thin material with them, until he could pull the fabric off her body and toss the shirt to the side. She wasn't wearing a bra, she had not been expecting to have company in the library that late, but that suited Sam just fine. His hands found her breasts, finding them an almost perfect handful, and to his delight she moaned softly and bucked her hips against him again. She then lifted herself up, forcing his lips from her neck down towards her chest, and he was more than happy to oblige, moving a hand back to the small of her back to hold her in place as he kissed one breast. He looked up as his lips ran over her skin, and saw her brown eyes alight and staring at him, begging him for more but, at the same time, loving his slow, tantalizing pace. Part of him wanted to look into her eyes all night, but his erection throbbed and he flicked his tongue across her nub to distract himself.

“Bloody hell,” she hissed, legs tightening against him, head falling back as she arched her back to give him better access. Her wild curls tickled the wrist supporting her back and Sam couldn't help but smile to himself as he moved his mouth to her other breast. Her skin erupted in goosebumps as her arms slipped along his shoulders and she moved her hands to pull his shirt up, and he moved just enough for her to get it over his head before his lips found her skin again. He was far from what one could call inexperienced, but he had never had a woman who seemed to respond to every minute touch. His body begged to be inside her while also not wanting to create the distance necessary to divest them of the rest of their clothing. Thoughts floated through his head: Were they really going to sleep together on the chair of the library? Would they be able to take their hands off each other long enough to get to their rooms? Would Dean hear if they did try to retreat to privacy, and if he did would he stop them?

Hermione seemed to be having much of the same thoughts, as she leaned to the side to grab her wand off the table. He rested his head on her chest, looking up as she waved her wand around the room.

“Silencing charm,” she explained. “Just to make sure that we're not overheard.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her collarbone as she tapped her wand to her stomach.

“Contraceptive charm,” she murmured, and he felt a hint of relief. As much as he had suddenly started imagining a future with Hermione, he knew he was not ready to even think about a family. He pressed another kiss to her neck, and he felt Hermione waving her wand one more time. He looked up at her, waiting for an explanation, and found her looking at something on the floor behind her. He looked around her and saw she had conjured a thick mattress on the floor, and he could feel a smirk cross his face as he looked up at her.

“I think that's rather self-explanatory,” she murmured.

Sam didn't need telling twice, grabbing her rear and lifting her as he stood. He took two steps to the mattress, and lowered them down with as much dignity as he could manage. She fell into the middle with a laugh, grabbing his arm and pulling him down to her so she could kiss him again. He slipped a hand into her pants, long fingers finding her slit. He barely needed to touch her to know she was already wet, his finger gliding against her without any resistance. She pressed herself into him, unable to suppress a moan into his mouth. He intensified his kiss for a minute before slowing and pushing himself up to a kneel. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants and looked up at her.

“Please, Sam,” she whispered. 

He slowly pulled her pants down and off, unable to stop himself staring at her as she laid bare before him. It was a sight he could get used to seeing, but with so much uncertainty he felt the need to drink the sight in, so he stood and took his pants off, eyes not leaving her as he did so. There was a beautiful flush on her chest and her hair was starting to go wild, and everything about her was absolutely beautiful.

“Are you just going to look?” she asked with a smirk.

“Not a chance,” he smiled, lowering himself back onto his knees. He gently pushed her legs apart and positioned himself between them, supporting himself on one arm as he used his other hand to position himself and, with a fluid motion of his hips, he buried himself inside her.

For a long moment neither moved, each staring into the other's eyes as the gravity of what was happening settled between them. Then, without words passing between them, they each started to move. Sam moved smoothly in and out of her as she lifted her hips to meet him. His lips met hers again, demanding and needing all at the same time. Her hands clung desperately to his back, needing to feel as much of him against her as possible. As he started to speed she pressed a hand to his chest and he felt himself being pushed backward, up into a sitting position, and he clung to her to bring her with so she settled astride him. She held onto his shoulders for support as she rocked her hips, grinding herself against him as he kissed her neck and wound his fingers in her hair. He only stopped when he felt her chest heaving against him as her breathing became more ragged. He watched her face as her eyes closed and her body tightened around him. The sight of her coming apart around him brought about his own climax, and he held her tightly, resting his head in the crook of her neck.

“Stay with me,” he begged breathlessly.

“Yes,” she replied, not sure if she was agreeing for the night or longer, but unable to care in that moment. 

Sam kissed her again, bringing them both slowly down. Hermione's head landed on a pillow that hadn't been there before, and he moved off her just enough that he wasn't in danger of smothering her in their sleep. Still, he found himself unable to let her go, holding her tightly in his arms, moving her now-wild hair just enough that he wouldn't inhale it. Their breathing slowed in unison, and they fell asleep within seconds of each other.

XXXXXXX

Dean woke up in a good mood for the first time in he couldn't remember how long. The night before he hadn't dreamed of monsters, but of Hermione, and the dreams were rather pleasant. The only sour note was that it was all in his dreams, and he knew he must still try to give the real Hermione her freedom before something bad happened to her. He checked his phone, wondering if Cass had discovered whatever he had disappeared to find, but there were no messages. Not even a Hunter looking for a hand or to ask him to check something out. It was almost disconcerting how quiet things had been lately, but he figured he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Stomach rumbling, he left his room with no thought other than to get to the kitchen with the hopes that Hermione had felt like cooking again. To his surprise, however, he saw his brother's door open a crack.

“Sammy?” he called, pushing the door open. The bed had been slept in, but not made after, which was unlike Sam. Sam's phone was on his side table, also unlike him. Dean frowned and hurried to the kitchen, hoping that there was nothing more to this than his brother had one of those rare moments where his appetite won out over his brain. But the kitchen was empty as well, and for a second Dean felt panic in his chest. Still, there was one more place to check before he let the panic take over, and he took off for the library at a jog.

“Dammit, Sammy,” he groaned softly before he fully processed the scene before him. Hermione and Sam were fast asleep, a blanket covering most of them but not completely hiding the fact that they were both nude. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened the night before.

A wave of anger passed over Dean. How could Sam be so damn stupid? There was no way that his younger brother was going to be able to give up Hermione now. He could practically hear the fight already, where he would have to try to talk sense into Sam while suppressing his own desire to see his brother happy. He took a deep breath in preparation to start shouting at them for being so stupid, and it was that breath that gave him pause enough to actually look at the couple.

Sam had Hermione tightly in his arms, wrapped in such a way that any motion of Hermione would probably wake him. Hermione's hands were gripping Sam's forearms, her head pressed back into his chest, body leaning back into Sam. Neither twitched or moved to indicate that their dreams were distressing; in fact, they looked like the perfect image of serenity. It was their faces that gave Dean the most pause. Sam looked happy, truly content for the first time in... well, Dean couldn't even remember the last time he had seen Sam like this. Looking at his brother he didn't see a hint of the last few years on him, this Sam didn't look like he had ever even heard of Lucifer, had never been near a demon. This Sam looked like monsters were still campfire stories and horror movies. Even Hermione looked different. The stress had disappeared from her face, making her look younger and refreshed. She was stunning, and Dean found it hard to look away, let alone want to disturb either of them. Sighing he backed quietly out of the room and went to the kitchen, needing a beer to decide what to do next.

“Saw them, did you?” Harry asked as he walked in, jolting Dean from his thoughts and causing him to jump. 

“Yeah,” he grumbled, crossing to the fridge and getting a beer.

Harry smiled, unpacking some plastic containers that smelled like grease and breakfast. “Surprised?” he asked as he worked, not looking at Dean.

“No, not really. You?”

“Only that it took them that long. I've never seen Hermione get along with someone so well so quickly before.”

“Can't say the same about Sam, though he's been known to work a bit faster than this,” he admitted with a smile.

Harry opened a few containers and motioned for Dean to take what he wanted. It appeared he had gotten an array of items at the nearest diner, and Dean got down some plates and silverware before he and Harry served themselves in quiet. They sat across from each other and started eating, waiting a full five minutes before Harry was unable to contain his questions.

“What's your plan now?” he asked.

Dean chewed a sausage and pondered it for a moment. “They look happy, don't they?” he asked.

“They do,” Harry nodded.

“Maybe you should take Sam back with you when you go home,” he muttered, scowling at his plate.

“Really?” he raised an eyebrow. “Not you?”

“We've done too much. Both of us together seem like a bit of a lightning rod for trouble. Maybe if Sammy goes the trouble will keep after me and leave the two of them alone.”

“You don't really believe that, do you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “But I don't see us being able to separate them, either.”

“They've been together one night,” Harry pointed out.

“Sam has a bad tendency to fall hard. He's not going to want to leave her after this.”

“Hermione doesn't fall hard, which is why I'm kind of surprised I see it happening here. But, then again, nothing about this is really normal, is it? You think the soulmate thing might be influencing them?”

“I think they're practically the same person already,” he chuckled. “I don't doubt they would have gotten together on their own if they ever met.”

“But you would have discouraged it,” Harry pointed out. “I know, safety and all that bollocks. Don't underestimate Hermione, mate. She's a lot tougher than she looks, and she can be downright scary at times.”

Dean couldn't stop a quick smile, which he hid with a mouthful of eggs. That morning had changed a lot- everything, really- and now it was time for him to decide what would need to happen in the future. He had a lot of thinking to do.


	4. Unstoppable Force Paradox

Sam was the first to wake up, slower than normal, as his body didn't seem to start tensing the moment he awoke as it usually did. He could feel Hermione still in his arms, and he resisted the urge to hold her even more tightly, afraid it might wake her. The night before, well, he couldn't call it perfect, confessing his sins hadn't exactly been to plan, but it had been needed. Before that night Hermione had been almost like a collectible, something to be admired and adored, but not touched. He had to do that in his mind, to protect himself from falling hard for her, though deep down he knew he had failed miserably. Things had become easier and much more complicated in one moment. As much as they were looking to break their connection, Sam was starting to see the writing on the wall. There was most likely no way to change their situation, but that didn't mean Dean was ready to accept it. They would have to simultaneously not give up while preparing his older brother for the probability that they would have to and confront the reality of Hermione being a permanent part of their lives.

Hermione woke up quickly, her head raising slightly as she took stock of their surroundings and lowering back to the bed with a soft groan.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“It's nearly ten-thirty. What are the chances that Dean hasn't seen us like this?” she asked.

As if on cue, Sam heard his brother's loud laughter coming from the kitchen. “Slim,” he admitted. “Though if he's laughing maybe he hasn't.”

“Either way, we should probably get up,” she said, sitting up, her wild curls cascading down her bare back.

“One more minute,” he muttered, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back down. Gently he tilted her head up towards his and gave her a prolonged kiss.

“What are we going to do?” she asked softly.

“Honestly? I'm going to enjoy this,” he replied. “We're going to have to keep looking- Dean won't let us stop- but that doesn't mean I'm willing to give this up now that we're both not sleep deprived.”

She kissed him again. “We're going to have to work on Dean, though.”

“I know,” he nodded. “But we're going to have to do it slowly. He's...”

“A tougher nut to crack?” she suggested.

“You aren't the first to call him a nut,” he chuckled.

“You're terrible,” she smiled. “Shall we face the music?”

He kissed her one more time before saying, “I suppose.”

Hermione summoned them clean clothes, and they quickly got dressed. Hermione vanished the bed before pulling her hair into a barely-tamed ponytail, and without thinking Sam took her hand as they headed into the kitchen.

“....the best part was the teachers constantly calling her to remove them, because they claimed they didn't want to overstep their bounds,” Harry was saying as Dean chuckled. “They had that toad hopping all over the school getting rid of fireworks that they could easily get rid of themselves. And Fred swears up and down he even saw Snape agitating a few of them to give her more work.”

“Telling him about Fred and George's fireworks?” Hermione asked.

“Good morning to you, too,” Harry smiled, turning to her. “There's some breakfast left, but you're about an hour and a half late for it being warm.”

“Warming charms are a thing,” she shot back.

“So are silencing charms, which I suppose I should thank you for using them last night.”

“So we're just confronting the elephant in the room right off, are we?” she asked.

“What's there to confront?” Dean asked. “We all know how each other feel about the situation. You are adults, you made a decision.”

Sam was looking at him skeptically. “That's not it,” he said softly.

“It is,” Dean insisted, taking a drink of coffee before standing to put the mug in the sink. “I don't feel like having the same argument repeatedly. So, let's not, and just get down to business today.”

Without another word Dean walked out of the room, heading towards the library. 

“That's not like him,” Sam murmured.

“He didn't look very happy when he first found you two,” Harry said, motioning to the table so they could sit down. “I just think he doesn't have a real argument against it.”

“So he's doing what he can and not really confronting it, or me,” Sam sighed.

“He's still holding out hope that we can be separated,” Hermione added. “We just... kind of made things a bit more complicated.”

“You certainly did,” Harry nodded. “But just because you two get along famously doesn't mean he feels the same for you, Hermione.”

“That's not saying he doesn't like you,” Sam added quickly. 

“I understand,” she cut him off. “We just have to give him time.”

“That doesn't mean I'm going to give you any time,” Harry said, looking at them expectantly. “You both seemed intent on keeping your hands to yourself until things were more clear. Can I ask what changed?”

“Nothing, really,” Hermione replied, biting her lip and looking at Sam. “We were both up, talked a little, and acted upon some feelings that I think we both had.”

Sam nodded in agreement.

“So what does it mean?” Harry asked. “I mean, I think I know what it means if you can't sever your connection, but if you do?”

“I, um…” Sam looked a little panicked.

“I think it might be a little premature to make any long-term declarations, don’t you think?” Hermione interrupted calmly.

“That’s fair,” Harry nodded. 

“We should probably go give Dean a hand.”

“After breakfast,” Sam nodded.

  
  


Harry stuck around to chat as they ate, but the chat was nothing more than Sam quizzing Hermione on her job and both of them on Hogwarts, since the concept seemed fascinating to him. They ate quickly, however, as to not upset Dean by keeping him waiting too long, and Hermione used magic to clean before they started to head to the library.

  
  


“Garth, Garth, will you shut up for a second?” Dean growled into his phone as they entered the library, causing Harry, Hermione, and Sam to look at him in surprise as they took their seats at the table. “Yeah. I know we're in Kansas, the question is how did  _ you _ know we're in Kansas? Yeah, I know the case is only three hours from here... Yes, I know things haven't been busy lately, which is why you should be able to get someone else... Okay, then send someone from ten hours away... Garth, it's really not a good time... Because it's not a good time, that's why... I  _ don't _ need to explain it to you... Garth? Garth! Son of a bitch!” he snarled, angrily pocketing his phone. “Garth wants us to go on a case.”

“What kind of case?” Hermione and Sam asked in unison.

“Don't... don't do that,” he shook his head.

“Do what?” they again asked in unison.

“ _ That _ ,” he grumbled. “He said there's something happening down around Wichita. Four people so far have died, two couples. The woman in each was strangled to death, but no rope near them, and the men were shot.”

“Sounds more serial killer than anything of ours,” Sam replied.

“The men were found in rooms locked from the inside. One of those had barricaded the door. No other way in or out of either room.”

“So probably a vengeful spirit?”

“Sounds like it. It should just be a salt and burn, but...”

“Let's do it,” Hermione interrupted, looking excited.

Sam and Dean looked at her in surprise.

“It sounds absolutely fascinating.”

“It's that sort of attitude that gets young hunters killed,” Dean shook his head. “Salt and burns aren't that hard. I can go myself. You guys can stay here and keep working and I shouldn't be gone long.”

“Do you really think it wise to go by yourself? What if something goes wrong?” she asked, standing up.

“I've spent a good long time hunting by myself, I think I can handle it,” he shot back.

“You've spent more time with backup,” she replied. “You shouldn't go without it now.”

“You said you only took a week off. We're four days in and we've found squat. You should stay here and keep looking.”

“Then take Sam.”

“No,” he snapped. “No offense, I'm not leaving two officials from some magical government alone in here.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

“Dean...” Sam interrupted.

“Fine,” Hermione snapped, cutting Sam off. “I say you're not going hunting alone, you say you're not leaving us here alone, so I guess we're meeting in the middle. I'm coming with you, and Harry will stay and keep looking with Sam.” 

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Dean snapped.

“Well, then we're all going.”

“We don't have time for that, someone needs to stay here and keep looking.”

“Then take Harry.”

“Don't take Harry,” Harry shook his head. “No offense, but I'm not taking a break from chasing down criminals to deal with dead things. I've had enough of that stuff for one lifetime, thank you.”

“I guess if you're not leaving us here alone, and you're not going alone, and Harry won't go, we're back at me going with, then,” Hermione shrugged, and she walked off before anyone could reply, leaving a shocked looking Dean in her wake.

“What the hell just happened?” Dean asked the room.

“Hermione just happened, mate,” Harry chuckled. “Don't think you can out-stubborn her, because if you do you've already lost.”

Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged. “I don't think it's a fight worth having,” Sam answered Dean's unasked question.

“I think it's a fight worth having,” Dean shot back.

“Fine. Then I'll go with her.”

“Like hell you're getting out there without me. I'm starting to get cabin fever in here.”

“Hermione seems pretty dead set on you not going by yourself, so then our options are you and I go and leave them here, or you just take Hermione and go. Or you can call Garth back and tell him what's going on and why we can't go out there, though I don't know how that's going to go over.”

“Do you  _ want _ me to take her?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Sam shrugged.

Dean's eyes narrowed. “War room. Now,” he ordered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Harry wasn't following them as they left the room. “What the hell is going on?” he asked angrily.

“Things have changed,” Sam replied calmly. “I think we're all starting to see the writing on the wall...”

“I think you  _ want _ there to be writing on the wall, so you're not looking as hard,” he interrupted.

“I am,” he protested. “As much as I like this thing I've got going on with Hermione I still think we should all have a choice in it.”

“But you would choose her.”

“I want the choice,” he replied sternly. “Obviously I like Hermione a lot and would like to see where this goes, but I would prefer it to be because we both want that despite our options being open. So, yeah, Dean, I'm still looking. But I also know we're pulling obscure books with no real relevance to the situation, so I'm also being realistic.”

“And you're trying to get me to be realistic, too? Is that it?”

“No. I'm trying to get you to stop blaming Hermione for a situation she had no part in making,” he snapped. “And if it takes the two of you going out on the road together, maybe that's for the best. She seems to open up more when it's only us, maybe she'll do the same for you.”

“Or, maybe, I'm going to get her killed,” he shot back.

“Is that what this is? Are you worried about her?”

“In case you didn't notice, that has been my concern since the moment we found out we had a soulmate!”

“She survived a war. I think a simple salt and burn isn't going to take her down.”

“That's  _ if _ it is a simple salt and burn, knowing our luck...”

“Just take her,” he sighed. “I don't think she's going to give you the option.”

They heard footsteps coming down the hall and saw Hermione enter the room, her beaded bag tucked at her side and her wand sticking out of her pocket. She crossed her arms and looked expectantly at Dean.

“Give me five minutes,” he grumbled before stalking towards his room.

“He's not happy,” Sam told Hermione, crossing over to her.

“I could see that,” she smiled. “He'll come around.”

“You have a cell phone?” he asked.

“Right here,” she said, pulling a phone from her pocket.

He took it, then used it to call his phone. “Now we have each other's numbers in case you need help dealing with him. Dean's not used to doing the research thing himself, he prefers to just jump right into things when we get there, so you might want to see what you can dig up off the internet during the drive. Look for past cases that resemble the current one, any link between the victims, that sort of thing. We... um... well, we often impersonate officials while we're on cases...”

“Local or federal?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Whatever really suits our need at the time. Usually FBI.”

“And I'll need a passable set of credentials?”

“Yes. Dean's are in the glovebox.”

“Done. I'll copy one of his and alter it,” she nodded.

“Good. A salt and burn often means digging up a grave...”

“I figured that,” she smiled, wrapping her arms around him and standing on tip-toe to give him a kiss. “Don't worry about me, I'll be fine.”

“I know.”

“And I'll take care of Dean.”

“I know,” he smiled. “You're going to try to work on things with him?”

“We'll see what happens,” she muttered, kissing him again. He pulled her tightly against him and wrapped a hand in her hair, deepening the kiss.

“You comin', sweetheart?” Dean asked loudly as he stalked through the room. 

Sam shot a look at his brother before letting go of Hermione. “Good luck,” he smiled.

“I'll keep you updated on how things are going,” she said as she jogged to catch up with Dean.

XXXXXXX

They rode for the first hour in silence, Hermione working furiously at her phone as Dean paid attention to the road. He felt his anger at her coming hunting with him wane as the miles passed, and a nervousness start to set in. He wasn't really nervous that Hermione was going to get hurt; she got herself out of some pretty bad scrapes before and was probably just as able as any hunter he'd ever met to keep herself safe. No, he was getting nervous about everything else- spending time alone with Hermione, what they were going to do about a hotel room, all the little things he didn't have to worry about when traveling with Sam because they were so close and not soulmates who had known each other less than a week. He occasionally stole glances at her out of the corner of his eye, but Hermione never looked over at him as she was so engrossed in her phone.

Finally she turned to him with a hint of a smile, and she took a deep breath before announcing,“Okay, I've found a bit out about the victims. Jennifer and Simon Oken, both early fifties, married for seventeen years, second marriages for each, two children aged eighteen and sixteen, though Mr. Oken has a twenty-five year old by his first wife. The couple's children were both working as lifeguards at a local pool, and came home two weeks ago to find their mum and dad dead. As best as the police can put together Jennifer died first of strangulation, and while that was happening Simon locked himself in a bathroom, where he was shot once in the back of the head. The police originally thought it was a murder-suicide, but no gun was found, and as of now there is no evidence of a break-in. 

“The second couple, William and Donna Wells, also mid-fifties, married thirty three years, their only marriages. They did not pick up their son at university as planned, so the son called his aunt, who went to check on them and found her sister dead, also of strangulation. Both the women had rope burns around their necks, but no rope was found. The sister left the house and called police, who entered and found Mrs. Wells dead as described, and shortly thereafter found Mr. Wells dead in the basement. He had locked the door and pushed the dryer and a set of shelves up against the door, and there were no windows or other doors. Once again, it was a single gunshot wound to the back of the head.”

“You found all that out?” Dean asked, impressed.

“I may know a thing or two to getting into some information not given to the general public,” she smiled at him. “Call it a trick of the trade.”

“Did you find any connection between the victims?”

“William Wells and Simon Oken had been on the same football team in high school, and there is some talk that they were good friends for a while, though I can't find anything recent on what I can uncover on their social media...” she frowned as her phone started ringing.

“Are you going to answer that?” he asked after it rang twice.

She sighed as she pushed a button and held the phone to her ear. “Hullo, Mum,” she said. “No, mum, you didn't wake me. I'm actually in the States,” she shot a look at Dean and bit her lip. “Just... a job. Just something the Ministry wanted me to look into... No, I've only been here a few days, and I shouldn't be staying much longer... It's really not that interesting, Mum...” she sighed again and mouthed 'sorry' at Dean, who smiled at her.

“I've got to stop for gas. You want anything to eat or drink?” he said, pulling into a gas station.

She shook her head. “That's Dean, Mum,” she said into the phone. “I'm working the job with him. Mum... Mum! I'm not... He is right next to me, Mum!” she sighed again and Dean could see a flush color her cheeks. “Yes, Mum, he is attractive,” she muttered into the phone, and Dean couldn't help but smile. “Mum, we're on a job, and it's not necessarily a pleasant one. I'll tell you more about it later. How is Dad?” she tried to change the subject as Dean parked, and she grabbed his sleeve to get his attention before he climbed out of the car. Wordlessly she held up a card and motioned it at the gas pump, signaling Dean to use it. Dean hesitated, so she used her shoulder to hold her phone, grabbed his hand, and pressed the card forcefully in it. When he looked back at her she signed her pin number before turning her attention back to her phone. Deciding it wasn't a battle worth having Dean got out of the car to fill the tank. He decided to give Hermione a few minutes privacy, so he tossed the card through the open window onto the seat next to her and went inside to use the bathroom. Though Hermione hadn't said she wanted anything he decided to get her some iced tea and a drink for himself, and as he was climbing back into the car Hermione was hanging up.

“Sorry about that,” she muttered. “My Mum, for all her education and feminist tendencies, still thinks that any man in a ten foot radius of me is a potential date.”

“It's alright. It’s not like she’s exactly wrong,” he shrugged, holding the tea out for her.

“Thank you,” she smiled, and he started the engine and pulled out of the gas station.

“So... are you close to your parents?” he asked after a mile or so, deciding that he didn't want to spend the next hour in silence.

“It's complicated,” she replied, biting her lip. After a moment she sighed and continued, “During the war, when it became clear that Harry, Ron, and I were going to have to leave to go hunt horcruxes, I made the decision that, to keep my parents safe, I would wipe their memories of me and send them to Australia under the names Wendell and Monica Wilkins. That way they wouldn't put themselves in harm’s way looking for me, and if I didn't make it they wouldn't have to...” she trailed off, biting her lip again. “They were very much against the idea. They said they would move, but they wanted their memories, but I was afraid that even looking for me on the internet might betray where they were, so I decided to go through with my plan. I literally cast the spell behind their backs. After the war I went and found them, and I restored their memories. And, understandably, they were quite upset. It caused a massive row, and we didn't speak for over a year. Mum finally did call, on my birthday, and invited me to come visit. And I did. When I did I found out they were still living as Wendell and Monica, and I found out something that they hadn't managed to tell me before our fight. When they got to Australia they both felt like something was missing in their life, and quickly decided to foster a child, a girl who had lost her parents and whose family wasn't interested in caring for her. They fell in love with her and adopted her. I had a sister for nearly two years and didn't know it, and she didn't know about me. Mum and dad didn't think it was fair to change everything Grace knew, and so they weren't going to, they are still living as Wendell and Monica.”

“Are things alright now?” he asked.

“Mum and I are... better. Not what we once were, but we had been growing apart somewhat ever since they found out I was a witch. But my relationship with my dad is nothing like it once was. He told me he doesn't even really know me anymore and while he loves me it's hard for him to see me as the girl I once was. We're working on it, but what he said hurt enough that I haven't really been putting in the effort to fix the relationship that I could be.”

“How about you and your sister?”

“Grace and I love each other, and we speak a fair amount, but she's sixteen years younger than I and we don't have a lot in common. And we haven't told her I'm a witch or any part of my story that goes with it. We will eventually, when she's ready.”

“How does that work out with you having a different name?”

“I know she's curious, but I haven't brought it up. Whenever she's close to asking we change the subject. Richard was especially good at distracting her...”

“Richard?” he raised an eyebrow.

“My ex,” she admitted. “I was with him around two years. Richard was... he could be the most charming, funny man. He could get along with anyone if he wanted to. A brilliant storyteller and a bit of a joker. Grace adored some of his antics, she thought he was hilarious. In private Richard had a bit of a difficult past, and he could have a bit of a temper, but it was never more than a bit of brutal honesty. He seemed very careful not to take out some of his frustrations on me, in fact, I don't think I ever felt safer with someone. Something about him was very protective. He was a good man for the time I was with him.”

Dean exhaled, feeling a pang of jealousy in the pit of his stomach that he would never admit to having out loud. “What happened?” he asked.

“He disappeared,” she said softly. “One night I was saying that I could really see a future for us. The next morning I woke up and he was gone. I tried calling his phone, it was turned off. I went over to his flat, it was cleaned out. I called the place he said he worked, and they said they said he had quit and moved back to the states. I searched, but I never heard anything from him or about him again. And I spent three months in a terrible state wondering what the hell I had done.”

“That's not right,” Dean said, pulling over and putting the Impala in park so he could turn and give her his full attention. “This Richard guy sounds like a real dick. Sorry, he could have been a freaking saint and he's still a douche for what he did to you. You know you're a wonderful woman, right?”

She looked a little surprised.

“I mean it,” he said forcefully. “You're a wonderful woman, don't think that I don't think that. I do. And if I were the typical man I would be thrilled to have a woman like you as a soulmate. I have only been pushing so hard to find a way to break whatever is binding us because I don't want you anywhere near this life. It's not you, it's everything else out there I don't want getting to you because if you got hurt I wouldn't be able to forgive myself.”

She gave him a timid smile. “I hope, after this hunt, you'll realize I can take care of myself.”

“And I hope you stay well away from the danger,” he replied, taking a deep breath before putting the Impala into drive and pulling back out onto the road. “And I hope you take Sammy away from this,” he added softly.

“Excuse me?” she looked at him, curious.

“Sam never wanted to be part of this. Every time he tries to leave he gets dragged back in. Maybe if you took him back to England with you he could get out for good.”

“Do you think he would leave?” she asked.

“Yeah. I do. I think he'd jump at the chance to get out alive.”

“I guess I should have asked ‘do you think he'll leave without you?’” She raised an eyebrow.

“He'll get over it.”

“I'll admit I don't know you as well as you know each other, obviously, but from what I do know I doubt you two are going to separate that easily. And I really doubt he's going to agree to go anywhere if it's leaving you in danger.”

Dean grunted and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Hermione inhaled deeply and looked out the window. Every time she felt like she was close to taking a step forward with Dean, he would say something that would drag them a step back. She was starting to wonder if they were ever going to be able to properly get along even if they didn't manage to break their bond. She absentmindedly started searching for more hints about the case, but even after tapping a few leads she realized she wasn't really paying attention to any of the sites. Dean silently steered through the sparse mid-day traffic of Wichita before heading back out of town. She was fascinated by his almost instinctive knowledge of the road, never once looking at a map as he navigated to the small town and pulled into the parking lot of a roadside motel that had a glowing 'vacancy' sign.

“Have you been here before?” she asked as they got out of the Impala.

“No, but I've been around enough I had a good enough idea of where to go,” he replied, pulling his wallet out of his pocket as he opened the door to the office. He rang the bell on the desk and then started thumbing through his cards, scowling. He and Sam had been at that point where they were squatting more than renting rooms, but one of the cards had to have enough still left that he wouldn't need to ask Hermione to help break him into an abandoned property for a roof over their heads.

“Good afternoon,” a pleasant looking elderly woman shuffled in from the back. “Checking in?”

“Yes, please,” he and Hermione answered in unison.

“One room?” the woman asked.

“Two,” Dean replied.

“One is fine,” Hermione corrected. “But two beds, please.”

The woman gave Hermione a knowing smile before pulling out her ledger. “Of course, dear,” she said. “I can give you room five. I'll just need a card for the deposit.”

Dean pulled his best bet out of his wallet, a Visa with the name 'Gerald Ricardo' on it. Hermione took one look and pushed his hand down, reaching into her bag and pulling out her own wallet.

“Hermione...” he protested.

“I am the one who insisted I come with, the least I can do is pick up the room,” she replied, handing her card to the woman. 

Dean's jaw tightened and he walked back outside. A few moments later Hermione came out, holding a couple keys.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

“You didn't have to do that,” he replied.

“I wanted to,” she replied, tossing him one of the keys. “How about you buy me dinner instead? I'm bloody famished.”

He didn't respond as he moved the car to the front of the room as Hermione walked over. He got his rucksack and his suit out of the back of the Impala and opened the door to the room. The room was pretty standard, two beds, dated décor, a tiny bathroom, and a TV. He turned to look at Hermione's reaction, as if he expected her to be turned off by the general lack of luxuries, but she seemed unfazed as she entered behind him and dropped her beaded bag onto one of the beds.

“After we eat I want to go visit the police station, so we're going to need to look official,” he announced, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on one of the two chairs next to a small, round table.

“Are we playing FBI, then?” she asked.

“Sam warned you?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, so I was able to prepare,” she said, holding up an official-looking set of FBI credentials.

“What name did you put on there?” he asked.

“I kept my first name, but I changed the last to McGonagall. I thought it sounded sufficiently British,” she smiled, tossing the badge on the bed and reaching into her bag, pulling out a garment bag, and disappearing into the bathroom. He was halfway through changing himself when he realized he probably should have waited for Hermione lest she come out while he was stripped down. He was so used to changing wherever because of how comfortable he was around Sam, and for her part he was also feeling comfortable around Hermione. He warned himself against getting that comfortable. Comfort drops guards which leads to idiotic things like falling for pretty witches, and he dressed quickly to avoid an awkward situation. As he was putting his jacket on Hermione emerged from the bathroom, looking at home in a tailored skirt suit, her hair pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, and a hint of makeup that wasn't too flashy. He allowed himself to admire her legs as she slipped on a pair of utilitarian heels, and when she was finished she looked every inch a government employee. He grudgingly admitted to himself that it might be best to let her take the lead. She would fit with what people expected of an official better than he and Sam had ever really managed. 

“Dinner?” he asked.

“Please,” she smiled.

They climbed into the Impala and Dean pulled out onto the main road heading into town.

“So, how do you get around so well, if you've never been to the area?” she asked.

“A lot of towns have the same general layout,” he replied. “Restaurants, grocery stores, gas stations, hotels, they all crowd around the main roads,” he explained. “Restaurants and stores tend to be closer to the center of town, more convenient to everyone. Hotels tend to be on the outskirts, where they could get larger plots of land to build them. Bars get tucked into side roads or the outskirts, keep the drunks away from the families in the middle. Gas stations crowd around busy intersections. In small towns like this police stations are often the same as fire stations and they try to be as close to the center of town as possible, as are newspapers, post offices and any other government buildings save for morgues, which, if they're separate, are hidden on a side road near the outside of town so people don't have to think about death on a regular basis. As long as you know all that it's pretty easy to figure out where to go to find what you might need.”

“That's brilliant,” she smiled at him.

“It works for monsters, too. Werewolves and vampires, for example, either like the cities where people turn up missing on a daily basis so they don't attract as much attention, or they like extreme rural areas where their kills might not be discovered until it's too late to figure out what happened to them because no one guesses werewolves and vampires. Wendigos need open spaces like forests. Once you know their habits you can narrow down what you're dealing with.”

“Do you generally have an idea of what you're looking for when you go to a place?”

“Sometimes. This case has all the hallmarks of vengeful spirit. Very ritualistic, but nothing is eating the victims or any part of them, so that's a big sign. But sometimes all you know is that there are a bunch of missing or dead people and you're going in blind.”

“Do you like it?” she asked.

He glanced at her before turning into the parking lot of a small restaurant. He didn't reply as he parked and climbed out.

“You and your brother are terrible about answering that,” she said as she climbed out and started towards the restaurant. They were shown a table quickly and the waitress took their drink orders before Dean finally spoke up.

“What makes you think we would like it?” he asked, scanning the menu to avoid seeing her reaction.

“You've done it long enough. Though, I guess I do know the feeling of doing something because you feel it is the right thing to do. But I guess what I should have asked instead, is if you're looking for a way out.”

“I don't think getting out is a choice,” he replied. “Every time I get close to getting away something drags me back in.”

“But if you had the opportunity, would you?”

“Are you offering to get me out of here?” he raised an eyebrow.

“I certainly don't think Sam is going to leave without you.”

“And is that what you want? Two brothers who are legally dead and who have no job experience coming to live with you?”

“I wasn't exactly offering that,” she replied. “But, should we be unable to break the spell we will have to have a discussion. I don't think that we'd do the long-distance thing well.”

“Not keen on coming over for booty calls?” he scoffed.

“Because I'd like a family, eventually,” she replied softly. “But I'm not particularly keen on having a child with two men who are constantly on the road, putting themselves into danger.”

“All the more reason for you to take Sammy with you.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me he's going to go without you,” she challenged.

He couldn't, so he focused on turning into the parking lot of a nearby diner, wanting to get inside and away from any more uncomfortable questions. Hermione didn't seem willing to accept the future he was offering for her and Sam, and he just wasn't ready to confront his own future with her permanently entwined with them quite yet.

XXXXXXX

The police station was more or less a bust. They hadn’t really learned anything new, and as it was getting late Dean asked Hermione if she wanted to retire for the night and start back up in the morning. She agreed, and he stopped at a liquor store on the way back to their hotel to pick up some drinks. When they got back Hermione went into the bathroom to change first, and he took the time to sit on his bed and contemplate their next move. Was this really how he and his soulmate were going to spend their first night alone? Separate beds? How was the time between now and when they went to bed not going to be awkward? Should he turn on the TV and hope for something entertaining so they didn’t have to confront that elephant in the room?

He sighed and stood, crossing to the sink where he wiped off the hotel glasses and poured each of them a drink. He ran out for ice and when he came back he found Hermione sitting on her bed, looking at a newspaper and wearing a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top that made him have to look away to try to stem his body’s natural reaction. He put a few cubes in each drink and swirled them around before handing Hermione one and going into the bathroom to change. When he emerged Hermione was reading a newspaper, though she didn’t seem particularly interested.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, nodding at the paper.

“A few hours ago I sent a message to the local wizards’ paper and they sent it over by owl,” she replied.

“By owl?” he asked, bemused.

“They’re actually quite reliable message carriers,” she smiled, putting the paper down.

“I don’t doubt that, but it seems so… cliche to have owls carrying your messages around.”

“I guess I shouldn’t mention the flying broomsticks and cauldrons, then.”

He chuckled. “I’m not surprised.”

“I wouldn’t think you would be, with everything you’ve seen. But don’t expect any flying demonstrations from me. I don’t like it.”

“I guess that’s something you and I have in common then, sweetheart,” he said, tipping his glass towards her.

“Really? Everything you’ve come up against and it’s flying that gets you?”

“Flying in an airplane requires you to give control to someone else and trust that they’ll get you there without meeting a terrible end. I don’t really like that part. And, you know, the being thirty thousand feet up in a metal tube. Not to mention that time Sammy and I were on a plane with a demon trying to crash it. That kind of wrecked the experience for me.”

“I get what you mean. I didn’t particularly like riding that dragon across the country, though I guess I was more concerned with the teeth than the possibility of a crash.”

“You rode a dragon across the country?” he asked, impressed.

“That was my improvised escape method after I robbed the bank.”

She said it with such a casualness to her tone that Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “I want to hear this story.”

“There’s not much to tell. Gringotts is the wizarding bank, and it’s notoriously difficult to break into. We are the first people to ever successfully rob it. Voldemort had hidden one of his horcruxes in there because he thought it was so secure, so we staged quite possibly the most obvious bank robbery in history but still managed to get the horcrux. It was when we were surrounded trying to get out that we had to think of a new way to escape, and there happened to be a dragon imprisoned down there to guard some of the high-security vaults. So we climbed on, liberated it, and assisted it on it’s way to freedom.”

“While also on your own path to freedom,” he pointed out.

“That was an added bonus. I’m very much an activist at heart. Harry will happily tell you about S.P.E.W.”

“Spew?”

A flush appeared on her cheeks. “Society for the Prevention of Elvish Welfare. It’s a group I started when I was in school. I thought I was going to change the world. House elves were slaves at the time, and often cruelly treated. I wanted them to be free and protected; they are living beings after all. I’ve made some progress, but it’s slow going. They’re free, they must be paid, and they cannot be punished nor forced to punish themselves. But the truth is I gave freedom to beings that were happy without it, and while I helped some, most people and house elves view the new laws as a hindrance. It’s hard to change the status quo.”

“No kidding,” he scoffed before taking a sip. 

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” she asked.

“We’re going to have to check out at least one of the crime scenes,” he shrugged. “Maybe try to find a connection between the victims that we might not have seen before. As this is a relatively new vengeful spirit it’s safe to assume that the victims were targeted, but that means we have to figure out what they did to piss a ghost off to the point where this happened. We may need to talk to people who knew them, their kids, just poke around.”

“Do they always have a connection?”

“No, and those are the hard cases. You have to figure out who the ghost is and why they would want to kill, then figure out where they’re buried or what they’re tied to so you can try to get rid of them. Sometimes it’s easy, sometimes not so much. It’s hard to tell at this point how easy things will be.”

“Do you ever sympathize with them?” she asked, curious.

“With the ghosts? I try not to. My job is to get rid of them, so that’s what I try to do.”

“What about the other monsters?”

“If you’re looking for the bleeding heart you’re looking at the wrong brother.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Maybe I am. Because I don’t know. I try not to think about them too much, because even if I sympathize with them, they’re still monsters. If I don’t kill them people are going to get hurt, they’re going to die. I try to save my sympathy for their victims.”

She bit her lip and looked away before taking a drink.

“If it were up to me the only monsters there would be the human kind. I might not get them, but there are ways to deal with that, laws and police and all that crap. It wouldn’t fix everything, but it would mean that innocent people weren’t getting turned into monsters that have to be killed. I don’t want to try to sympathize with them because I know I’m one bad moment away from being them. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I don’t want to die, especially for something I had no choice in like being turned into a werewolf or something. I…” He studied her for a moment before sighing and continuing, “I was turned into a vamp a few years ago. And I thought it was the end. I was going to take as many of those bastards as I could down with me, but I knew I was going down, either by them or by a hunter. It put some stuff into perspective, but that doesn’t mean that had I not been cured I shouldn’t have been killed. If the choice was me or an innocent person, I would want them to kill me.”

There was a long, pregnant pause before he softly added, “There have been a lot of times I’ve questioned whether Sammy and I are our own version of monsters. If it would be best if we weren’t here. But apparently the universe isn’t ready for us to be dead yet, so we just keep going.”

Hermione shot him a sad smile. “It would be a lot easier if the monsters were all human, then we would know that they made the choice to hurt others.”

“Hopefully one day,” he nodded, before finishing his drink. “Time for bed,” he announced as he stood and went to the bathroom to get ready. By the time he emerged Hermione was already asleep. He sat on his bed and just watched her for several minutes, trying to figure out if Hermione’s change in demeanor towards him was the result of her thinking he really was a monster. She really was like Sam, she cared about people and things and probably saw his casual dismissal of killing them as callous. After a moment he decided it was for the best. She really did need to see all of him to understand why being with him was a terrible idea. He climbed into bed and decided it would be best to stick to the business at hand the next day.

XXXXXXX

A soft thumping noise startled him awake, and he shot up, gun in hand, ready to go into action against whatever it was. The room was dark, lit only by the light of the neon sign outside managing to break in through the cracks around the curtains. For a moment he was confused- there was nothing in the room that seemed to be moving at all- but a second later there was another thump and he looked to his left at Hermione’s bed. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing, Hermione’s body was occasionally jerking on the bed, tears fell from her shut eyes, beads of sweat dotted her brow, and her mouth was moving like she was talking, but he couldn’t hear anything. The thumping noise was from the table between the two beds, which was getting knocked by Hermione’s bed as she thrashed around.

Before he had fully processed what he was seeing he jumped out of his bed and towards Hermiones. As soon as he passed over the side of her bed it was like pressing the mute button the second time- all the sound came back suddenly. The springs in the bed protested Hermione’s sudden movements as she thrashed, and her lips begged a silent attacker to stop. 

“Hermione,” he called, reaching out to her and shaking her shoulder, but Hermione didn’t wake. Instead her back contorted as a cry of pain forced itself from her throat.

Dean felt panic in the pit of his stomach. “Hermione!” he cried again, this time grabbing both her shoulders and pulling her towards him. She woke with a start, and didn’t even take the time to check out her surroundings before launching herself into his arms and burying her face in his neck as she sobbed.

The fear and tension left Dean’s body as he instinctively wrapped his arms around her and maneuvered them so he was sitting against the headboard and she was sitting between his legs, her body pressed against his. He felt her tears soak into his t-shirt and felt strands of her hair tickle his neck and chin. For a moment all he could think about was how good it felt to have her in his arms, but he quickly pushed the feeling aside and focused on comforting her, rubbing her arm gently and muttering quietly to her as she brought herself under control.

“I’m so sorry,” she finally said softly, her voice scratchy and sounding exhausted. “I put a spell up in case I had a dream, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s alright,” he replied soothingly. “You don’t have to hide that from me.”

“You can go back to sleep, I really am sor-”

“I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re alright,” he interrupted firmly.

She exhaled shakily and seemed to accept there would be no point fighting him. She nuzzled her head into his neck and he felt her breath falling lightly on his chest. A tiny voice in the back of his mind triumphantly announced that this was proof that Hermione wasn’t cut out for any part of the hunter lifestyle, but then he looked down. His left arm was positioned close to hers, and when he moved it just slightly their ‘mudblood’ marks lined up- her scars that still looked angry and fresh despite being years old, and his faded ghost version that marked him as hers- and he reminded himself that nightmares were no indication of how well someone could handle themselves. 

After a few long moments she took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Thank you,” she said softly. “You didn’t need to do that. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

She started to draw away from him. Without thinking his arm tightened around her, keeping her close to him, and she looked at him in confusion. He wanted to say something, anything, but all he could focus on was how much he wanted to kiss her in that moment, to forget every argument they had against being together, and to surrender to whatever power made them soulmates. The pain of not doing so was so overwhelming he was sure it would somehow manifest itself physically, but instead he managed to ask, “Are they going to come back?”

“Maybe,” she admitted. 

“Can I stay with you?”

There was a moment, no longer than the blink of an eye, where she registered her shock at his request, but she nodded and moved off him and to the side of the bed so he could get fully in. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so afraid of something, could feel his hands trembling slightly as he moved the blanket and laid down, but the feeling immediately dissipated as she laid next to him and moved so her body was pressed against his. He wrapped an arm around her to draw her into him, and, once he was sure she was asleep, pressed a kiss to her forehead before drifting off as well.


	5. Showing the Cracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I need to extend a million thanks to Jocillyria for beta-ing this massive thing, and to DarkAngelofSorrowReturns for the beautiful artwork!

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/143241080@N06/50190091532/in/dateposted-public/)

“Please tell me you have something,” he growled into the phone as he climbed into the Impala and started it up.

“I think I might,” Hermione replied. “Are you coming over?”

“I'll be there in five minutes,” he replied, hanging up the phone and slamming his foot onto the gas pedal. The Impala lurched forward as the engine roared, then settled back into its familiar purr as he eased off the gas. He and Hermione had woken up that morning still in each other's arms, which was thrilling and the best way he had woken up in a long time. But then came the fallout, the 'what was that' question that hung over them that they seemed unwilling or unable to answer. They had gotten dressed, eaten a silent breakfast, and gotten to work. Work was good. Work meant that they no longer had the awkward, pressing silence, but that their talks hadn’t been anything more than the task at hand. 

Hermione had gone to the library to do some research on local crimes, looking for a murder that might have led to a vengeful spirit, while Dean went to the coroner's office. Both came back feeling as though they had wasted their time, though Dean was amused to find out Hermione's hair got just the tiniest bit bushier whenever she was frustrated. Afterwards they split up, with Dean dropping Hermione off at one crime scene before going to the other himself. He had met the Wells' son, who had not returned back to college, but, by the looks of it, had moved back into the family home after the police had finished processing it and proceeded to not take care of the place. Dean had tried to question him about his parents' pasts, any marital problems, anyone who might want to hurt them, a neighbor with a grudge, anything, but the young man was insistent that his parents loved each other dearly, that they were pillars of their community, and they were highly liked in their neighborhood. According to the young man there was absolutely nothing in their pasts that would make someone want to kill them. He had shown Dean the rooms that his parents had been found in, untouched since the police went through, but there was nothing there that would lead Dean to believe that they weren’t on the right track looking for a vengeful spirit, but also nothing to indicate why one might have targeted the couple.

Four minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of the Okens’ house. Mr. Oken’s older son didn’t live there anymore, and their teenagers had been taken by their grandparents, so Hermione had chosen to go to their house in order to get a more thorough look around. Dean noticed a couple neighbors watching him through their curtains, so he tried to look as purposeful and official as he could as he strode up to the front door and let himself in. He found Hermione on the floor in the living room, a number of photographs, a ring, a football jersey, a couple yearbooks, and her phone in front of her.

“What do you have?” he asked, sitting on the couch across the coffee table from her.

“I found this hidden behind a false wall in Mr. Oken’s closet,” she said, gesturing to the pictures, ring, and jersey. “These are all personal photos, it appears to be Mr. Oken’s time in high school and on the American football team. Most of the pictures feature Mr. Oken with his friends, which is where I think I have found something. These pictures show that Mr. Oken was quite friendly with Mr. Wells, but they also were good friends with two other boys. Going through the yearbooks I’ve identified them as Gregory Hicks and David Holmes. If I may think out loud?”

“Go ahead,” he nodded.

“I was wondering why these were all hidden. Why take pretty much all your memories from high school, the jersey you wore for four seasons, the ring you earned from your championship year, all the pictures of you and your best mates, and hide them in your closet? Something probably happened between them, don’t you think?”

“Maybe they got into a fight,” he suggested.

“Why the jersey and the ring?”

Dean shrugged. “Make a clean break from it all?” he suggested.

“Then why keep it at all?”

“Good question,” he admitted.

“I would think that it would be more than just a coincidence that two of our four victims were best mates in school.”

“I would think as well. So what about the other two guys?”

“Mr. Holmes is alive and well, living not too far from here. He got married about twenty five years ago, has a couple of children, and a six month old granddaughter.” She turned her phone to him to show a picture from a newspaper article written during the town’s Fourth of July celebration. “He’s a deacon at his local church and is the second generation owner of his family’s pizza parlor in town.”

“And the last guy?”

“Disappeared,” she replied.

“What do you mean disappeared?”

“Right after these guys graduated he moved to Wichita, where he said he was going to go to school, but where he actually became a bartender. About three months after that, right when Mr. Oken was about to leave for college, he and another friend were coming back for a visit when they disappeared. They never made it here, no one ever found their car, no one ever heard from either of them again.”

“So three of these four guys are either dead or missing?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she said, starting to gather the items.

“You said the last guy owns the pizza place in town?”

“It opened ten minutes ago,” she nodded, following him out to the car. She pulled up the address on her phone, but Dean seemed to navigate by memory, and they quickly pulled into an empty spot in front of the pizza parlor. She and Dean jumped out and hurried inside, where a pleasant looking woman smiled at them as they came in.

“How can I help you two today?” she asked. 

“FBI,” Hermione said, showing her the fake badge. “We have a couple questions for Mr. Holmes.”

“Is everything alright?” she asked, her face falling.

“It’s just a couple questions about an ongoing investigation.”

She looked a little skeptical and concerned, but said, “He’s not here right now. He hasn’t been in for two days.”

Dean was already turning towards the door when Hermione asked, “Does his wife work here?”

“She does, but she’s not in today, either.”

Hermione quickly followed Dean out the door and nearly dove into the car, barely getting the door shut before he threw it in reverse and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Tell me I’m going in the right direction,” he said as he impatiently stopped at a light.

“To the right,” she informed him, and he followed her directions until they pulled up to a modest house on the edge of town. They jumped out in unison.

“Go knock on the door and see if they answer, I’m going to get the trunk ready,” he ordered as she ran across the lawn and knocked loudly on the door. She waited a few seconds, bouncing from foot to foot impatiently. She was about to knock again and had a hand on her wand when the door opened, revealing a frightened looking man holding a shotgun.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Dean shouted from behind Hermione, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him pointing a gun at the man.

“We’re with the FBI,” Hermione said cautiously, pulling out her fake credentials. “We have some questions about an ongoing investigation into the deaths of the Okens and the Wells.”

To her surprise he immediately lowered the gun. His body appeared to deflate and he sighed. “Come in,” he muttered, sounding defeated. Dean put his gun away and they followed him through the house and took the seats he indicated at his dining room table.

“Is your wife home, Mr. Holmes?” Hermione asked.

“No, it’s the fourteenth,” he replied. “She goes to get her hair done on the fourteenth. I couldn’t think of a reason for her not to go. So, what do you want to know?”

“How about a little about your relationship with the Okens and the Wells?”

“I doubt you would be here if you thought I just knew them from around town or the shop,” he sighed. “We were best friends in high school, but we had a falling out.”

“What kind of falling out?”

He looked nervously between the two of them. “We did something we shouldn’t have done, and decided to go our separate ways after.”

“Oh, well, if that’s it then,” Dean snapped.

“Listen, I know it sounds simple, but sometimes simple is the best explanation…”

“What was the something that you shouldn’t have done?” Hermione interrupted firmly.

The man looked at her in surprise.

She straightened up and looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I’ll put this shortly, Mr. Holmes. The Okens and the Wells are dead. Something attacked them, and the only connection we can make between them also brings up you.”

He seemed to deflate even further, to the point he couldn’t even look at them.

“We are trying to see if what… whoever killed the Okens and the Wells is going to come after you,” Dean added.

“Do you know anything about where Gregory Hicks went?” Hermione demanded.

Mr. Holmes’ head came up, and he looked between the two of them. “I… I don’t know…” he stammered softly.

“Really?” Dean snapped, but their attention was drawn by the door opening.

“Dave? Whose car is that…?” Mr. Holmes’ wife came around the corner and looked surprised at the two people sitting at her table.

Hermione had just pulled out her credentials when Mrs. Holmes dropped the shopping bag she was holding. Her hands went to her neck, clawing at something like an unseen rope.

“Shit,” Dean shouted, jumping up. Hermione followed, pulling out her wand.

“What do you need?” she asked.

“My rock salt shotgun would be helpful,” Dean replied. She waved her wand and it appeared in front of him. He rushed around to Mrs. Holmes’ side and shot behind her. She bent over, gasping for air as whatever it was let go.

“What was that?” Mr. Holmes shouted.

“I think it’s time for all of us to start this over,” Hermione said. “Dean and I are here to try to save you from that ghost that just tried to kill your wife.”

“Ghost?” Mrs. Holmes shouted, standing up and looking confused.

“Yes. Ghost. A ghost is what was choking you. Dean and I are here to stop that, but we’re all going to have to be a lot more honest with each other. So how about we all sit down and have a talk?”

Dean looked at her, impressed at her ability to take charge of a situation as the Holmes took their seats silently. He hurried out to the Impala to get some salt, and when he got back inside Hermione had sat opposite the Holmes and pulled out one of the photos she found in he Oken’s house. She placed it on the table between them as Dean sat next to her. “Now, this will work a lot better if we are honest with each other. So, I’ll ask you again, Mr. Holmes, what was the falling out you had with your friends?”

Mr. Holmes took a long look at his wife, then picked up the picture and looked down at it. “Simon, Greg, Billy, and I were best friends from kindergarten. The kind of kids you just liked from the start. Did everything together growing up, joined the Scouts, went hunting, did sports, everything. Thought it was going to be like that forever, but everyone thinks that about their best friends in high school, right? So after graduation Greg moved away. He was having some problems with his parents and wanted to get out. Simon, Billy, and I stuck around and had fun for the summer, broke a couple hearts, drank more than our fair share of beers. Basically ignored the fact that our parents’ benevolence in giving us one more summer before growing up would wane in August and we’d have to get jobs or go to school. About a week before Billy was supposed to ship out for basic training Greg called, asked us to go meet in the spot about fifteen miles outside of town. It was where we went hunting, and by hunting I mean bring girls, burn things, and drink beer. There was no good hunting there so we were never bothered when we were there. We thought Greg wanted to just hang out for a bit.”

He shot a look at his wife and dug a cigarette and a lighter out of his pocket and took his time lighting it with a shaking hand. He took two long drags and was going for a third when Dean started to get impatient, but Hermione’s hand found his arm to keep him quiet as she waited patiently.

“We got there early,” Mr. Holmes said softly, his eyes distant. “We had nothing better to do, so we went and started drinking. I remember joking that we’d have to slow down or Greg would miss the chance. Greg showed up about two hours later. He had… a gentleman with him. At first we thought it was just some guy he met in Wichita. And I guess that wasn’t wrong, but not the way we thought. Greg had brought his… his partner.

“We reacted poorly. I’d like to say it was just how people reacted to that at the time, but there really was no excuse. We laid into Greg, called him all sorts of names, told him how disgusted we were to spend all those years changing in a locker room with a fa… with someone like him. He got upset, and went to leave, but his partner wasn’t going to go without giving us a piece of his mind. 

“Simon had a rope by the fire pit that he used to carry logs. I don’t remember him grabbing it, I only remember him placing it around Greg’s partner’s neck and pulling. Greg, naturally, freaked out and tried to stop him, Billy and I grabbed Greg and held him down. We laughed as he shouted, begged us to stop, but Simon just said they deserved it. He didn’t stop until that man was dead. We killed him, and I don’t even remember his name...”

Mrs. Holmes let off a gasp, her face horrified. Dean had a sudden urge to leave Mr. Holmes to his fate, but he quickly buried the feeling. He looked at Hermione and could tell she was quite upset, but she still kept quiet, waiting for more.

“I guess that explains the choking,” Dean muttered.

Mr. Holmes sighed and took another drag on his cigarette. “At the time, I kept a gun in my truck. Once Simon killed the man we knew we couldn’t just let Greg go. So Simon and Billy held him while I went and got the gun. I made it quick, though it would never have been quick enough.

Mrs. Holmes let off a sob and stood up as if to leave.

“Stay,” Dean ordered. “There’s still a spirit out there, and it still wants you dead. Until we get rid of it you do as we say, understand?”

Mrs. Holmes, silently weeping, sat in a different seat and refused to look at her husband.

“It sounds like Greg and possibly his partner might be out for revenge,” Hermione said. “We need to know where their bodies are.”

“We buried them at that spot and never went back,” Mr. Holmes told her. “We dug all night but the ground was dry and it was slow going. We didn’t get them more than two or three feet deep.”

“We’re going to see what we can find,” Dean said, grabbing his salt and standing. “I’m going to put down some salt to protect your wife, and when I’m done you’re going to take us to that spot.”

“How about I take you to use the bathroom before?” Hermione said, holding a hand out to Mrs. Holmes. “Once we leave you can’t leave the salt circle until we’re done.”

Mrs. Holmes nodded and stood, walking the long way around the table to avoid her husband, and went down a hallway. Hermione followed, waiting outside the bathroom as she listened to make sure she didn’t hear the sounds of a struggle inside. A minute later she heard a flush and the sink running. A few moments later Mrs. Holmes opened the door but didn’t move out of the bathroom. Hermione moved so the distraught looking woman could see her. 

“Twenty five years,” Mrs. Holmes said softly. “It’ll be twenty six in two weeks. I was going to surprise him with a cruise. He’s always wanted to go, but because he was so busy or I was working we never got to go. I already booked it, a week in the Caribbean. Everything, our whole life together… How am I supposed to deal with this? I can’t even look him in the face. What do I tell our girls? My granddaughter? How do you deal with finding out your husband is a killer?”

Hermione bit her lip and tried not to think of Sam and Dean’s body count. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “You have every right to be upset. To be sad and mad and all that all at the same time. He did something horrible. Sometimes there’s no real way to process something like that. When this is over you should probably consider getting some mental help. As for your daughters, for your granddaughter? You tell them the truth. You grieve as a family. You process your emotions together if you can. And you decide what you want to do going forward at your own pace. You don’t need to make a decision about anything just yet. Twenty six years is a long time, and you don’t have to make a decision overnight.”

Mrs. Holmes nodded and swiped away a tear. “Are you married?”

“No, but I’m in a … somewhat complicated relationship.”

“If you found out he had killed someone, what would you do?”

Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I guess I’d look at the circumstances.”

“And looking at this?”

“It would be quite difficult to forgive,” she nodded, starting to lead her towards the kitchen. Dean and Mr. Holmes were waiting by the front door, so she made sure Mrs. Holmes was sitting at the table inside the circle, and she quickly got her some water. “I’m so sorry we have to leave, but we have to make sure that you have a future to make decisions about,” she said softly to Mrs. Holmes.

“Just promise me that when you get rid of that ghost you won’t bring him back here.”

“I promise,” Hermione nodded. They left quickly, Dean driving just above the speed limit, the only talking when Mr. Holmes gave Dean a direction. They finally pulled into a forest, but not far out of sight of the main road the path became impassable. They climbed out, and Dean gathered some things from the trunk, shoving them into a duffle bag. He shouldered a couple spades and slammed the trunk shut. 

“Which way?” he demanded sharply.

Mr. Holmes looked around a moment, trying to get his bearings. His eyes lingered on a large oak tree, and after a few moments he started towards it. They went up a hill covered in years of overgrowth. Just past the oak there was a stone ring, covered in moss and filled with decomposing leaves. Not far away were the rusted remnants of a lawn chair.

“This is it,” Mr. Holmes announced. “Over there,” he added, pointing to a spot where the ground dipped slightly not far from a walnut tree. “Between those two big roots. Maybe under them, that’s what we were hoping for when this tree was smaller, that the roots would grow and hide what we did.”

Dean held out one of the spades. “Let’s get to work,” he said.

“Dig? I’m not the man I once…” he turned to look pleadingly at Hermione.

“I don’t think…” Hermione started, but she was cut off as something wrapped around her neck from behind. Her fingers immediately went to her neck, searching out the invisible rope.

“Shit!” Dean shouted, dropping his spade. At first he took a stride towards Hermione, hands instinctively raised to tear the rope from around her neck, but then he realized that wouldn’t work and turned to grab for the duffle bag. He wretched it open and struggled to pull the shotgun from it. He looked up to check on Hermione, and saw she had drawn her wand. She wasn’t looking at him, but at the spot that Mr. Holmes had indicated. Dean glanced down and saw the ground quaking. A moment later bones worked their way loose of the soil and started piling themselves at his feet. Dean’s body moved automatically, digging the salt from his bag and pouring it on the bones as the last few settled into the pile. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it, but the flame went out quickly as his trembling fingers slipped. He tried again and failed to get a flame. Just as he was about to take his third try the bones burst into flames, and he fell back to avoid getting burnt. As he hit the ground his eyes found Hermione again. A thin line of flames flashed around her throat as the ghostly rope was burnt, and she fell to the forest floor, gasping for air.

“Hermione!” Dean called, stumbling to his feet and hurrying over to wrap her in his arms and lift her up so she was leaning against him. He pulled her hair away from her face and ran a thumb over her cheek. “Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded, taking several long, deep breaths as she started to recover. Mr. Holmes seemed to get over his shock at what had just happened and came over to help her to her feet. As soon as Hermione was standing upright she immediately turned and slapped Mr. Holmes across his face so hard Dean winced. Mr. Holmes and Dean both looked at Hermione in shock and Dean wrapped his arms around her, making sure to hold the hand still holding her wand towards the ground to prevent her from doing anything more violent.

“What a horrible way that would have been to die!” she shouted. “If it weren’t for your wife I would have just let that ghost have you and you would have deserved it!”

Mr. Holmes looked at Dean, dumbstruck. Dean shrugged and tried not to smile. 

“Alright, alright, take it easy,” Dean murmured soothingly, though in his mind he imagined letting her go and watching the fireworks. A few seconds later he felt her relax enough that he felt comfortable letting her go and, after shooting one last scathing look at Mr. Holmes she put her wand back in her pocket.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“Now we take him back and we go home,” he replied.

She looked down at the still smouldering spot where there had been a stack of bones moments before. “That’s it?” she asked softly.

“That’s the job, sweetheart,” he replied. “We have to fly under the radar. We can’t get tangled up on seeking justice, as much as it sucks. It would be a one way ticket to prison or the nut house.”

She sighed and nodded, and started back towards the Impala. The drive back was even quieter than the drive out, with Hermione resolutely looking out the window and ignoring the passenger in the back seat. Every so often he’d look over at Hermione, watching as a line of bruises bloomed around her throat. A glance at the backseat showed him he wasn’t the only one who noticed. Just as they got back into town Mr. Holmes broke the silence.

“Turn left here,” he said, looking towards the right, which would have taken him back to his house. Dean obliged, and they drove back towards the center of town. Hermione looked around, trying to figure out where Mr. Holmes was leading them, and was visibly surprised when he instructed Dean to turn into the police station parking lot.

“My wife knows she’s safe. That’s all that mattered to me,” Mr. Holmes said to no one in particular. He stared at the station for a long moment before getting out of the car and heading inside. Hermione cast an _obliviate_ charm on his back, muttering “So he doesn’t mention my little trick with the bones.”

Dean pulled away and took them back to the hotel, where they quickly changed clothes, packed up, and checked out. Within fifteen minutes of arriving they pulled out of the town and started to head back towards the Bunker.

Once they were well out of town Dean looked over at Hermione, who was looking out the window without really focusing on anything. 

“You did good today,” he said, looking out the windshield while trying to watch her reaction out of the corner of his eye. She looked over at him with a tiny smile but didn’t say anything.

“You really… you handled that better…” he paused and took a deep breath, “You kept your head in the game when you could have panicked. Very admirable.”

She shot him a half-hearted smile and, after waiting a moment to see if he was going to say anything else, went back to looking out the window. Dean thought hard for a few miles, and came up with an idea. He stopped for gas and made a phone call while Hermione used the restroom. She didn’t notice when they exited the interstate early and started heading up a lonely highway surrounded by fields. They traveled for about an hour before Dean pulled off on a side road. Hermione looked at him in confusion, but didn’t say anything. He turned again, this time down a gravel road, before turning off into a field. After driving through rows of sorghum they finally came to a stop next to a pickup truck in a clearing by a small creek. There were a couple camp chairs set up around a fire pit, with a table sitting between them. A man was sitting on the hood of the pickup, a picnic basket sitting next to him.

“You could have given me more than an hour and a half,” the man said with a smile as they climbed out of the Impala. He and Dean approached each other and shook hands. “You’re lucky the little lady was willing to be bribed to help out.”

“Sorry,” Dean smiled. “It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment idea.”

“It’s all good,” the man smiled. “When I told you I owe you one I meant it. This guy got rid of a poltergeist for me,” he added, looking at Hermione. “I will leave you to it,” he said, clapping Dean on the back and handing him the picnic basket. “Just throw a bucket of water on the flames before you go and I’ll be back for the stuff in the morning.”

“Will do,” Dean nodded. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime,” he called, getting into his truck. Dean and Hermione watched as he backed out of the spot and heard the sound of his tires crunching over gravel fade into the distance. They sat in the chairs and Dean got out the food, some finger sandwiches, some apple slices, some cheese, and two mason jars of sangria. Dean set the food on the table as Hermione opened the jars. 

“Congrats on your first win,” he said, holding his jar out to clink against hers.

“It doesn’t feel much like one,” she replied softly.

“You saved two lives. One was a massive douche, but he’s alive because of what you did today. I could be wrong, but you seem the type to save your enemy if given the chance.”

She gave him a half smile. “Depends on the enemy.”

An awkward silence fell between them again, and for a while they ate in silence as they watched the sun start to set. As it grew darker fireflies started lighting up around them. Dean looked at Hermione for a while, she relaxed as she watched the fireflies dancing around. He found himself smiling just looking at her, something really had shifted between them during their trip. He had seen Hermione in action, in danger, the thing he was most frightened of since before he knew who his soulmate was, and she had kept a cool head and finished the job. He still wanted her nowhere near most of the things he dealt with on a daily basis, but he didn’t have the same fear of a boogeyman getting the best of her. He realized that one of his biggest mental obstacles to being with her was falling apart, and it was hard to tell if that was frightening or thrilling.

“I’m glad you came with me,” he finally said. “If I had to try to do all that myself I don’t think I would have been able to save them.”

“Thank you for letting me come,” she smiled.

“Let you?” he chuckled.

She smirked. “Thank you for giving in, then. It was…”

“Fun?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Exhilarating. I can honestly say that it was not something I ever expected to experience.”

“But now that you’ve experienced it…?” he prompted.

She studied him in thought for a moment. “I don’t think that it’s something that I would want to do for a living, but it is not something that I would object to helping with on occasion.”

He took a long drink. “I really wish you had said you hated it and never wanted to see another supernatural thing in your life.”

“It would be kind of hard for me to avoid it, don’t you think?”

He gave a little nod of acknowledgement. “It might be a bit difficult. But that doesn’t mean I want you to come looking for trouble with us.”

She let off a breath and looked into the fire. “Do you think I can’t handle it?”

“The opposite, actually. I think you could kick the ass of nearly everything that we’ve come up against without even getting dirt on your clothes, but there are some things I don’t want you within a hundred miles of, things that I think even your wand wouldn’t help you with.”

“But it’s okay for you and Sam to go in there without a wand?” she shot back.

“Not really,” he replied. “If it were up to me Sammy would be away from it all, too.”

“But not you?”

“I knew when I got into this I wasn’t getting out alive. I’ve come to peace with the fact that I’m dying early and I’m probably dying bloody. But Sammy got out, he didn’t really choose to get back in. I dragged him back in. I don’t want him to suffer the same fate.”

“It doesn’t need to be your fate…”

“It does,” he interrupted firmly. “Sammy and I haven’t told you half the shit we’ve come up against, half the shit we’ve _done_. I can’t escape it, I know I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I want to take anyone down with me.”

She took a long drink as she looked across the field at the fireflies. “What do you think all this means?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“This soulmate business. Not everyone has a soulmate. In the only book with any real information on soulmates that I could find it said there has been no recorded cases of a triad of soulmates where there was even a _single_ non-magical partner, let alone _two_ non-magical _brothers_. Magical soulmate triads happen around periods of great unrest in our world, and often it is the combined strength of that triad that makes them so powerful they can make the difference in a close fight. There has to be a reason for it, but I cannot think of what that reason might be.”

“There’s a lot about Sammy and I that is connected in ways we’re still discovering. Adding you into the mix adds more questions than it answers, because it really doesn’t answer any.”

“Do you think breaking the bond would be the end of it?”

“We’re not that lucky,” he conceded.

“So, regardless of your intentions to protect us, even if I left, Sam and I are most likely not done with the worst of what you’ve seen.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not worth a shot…”

“So we can get complacent, maybe even have a child, before something very large and very dangerous comes for us? With no warning because you’ve kept us at arm’s length from that life? You’re the only one who hasn’t seen that writing on the wall, Dean, and I’d rather be prepared.”

“Just because there might be one reason we’re soulmates, some big, terrible thing we’re supposed to face together, doesn’t mean that there won’t be ten other things that come at you first, and I will not have you facing all that!” he snapped.

“Do you think they won’t just because I’m not next to you?” she snapped back. “Whoever cast this marking spell wasn’t too bothered by the fact that we were halfway across the globe from each other. There are ways to track each other through these marks using magic. It’s going to come for me no matter where I am. I would rather be with you and prepared than sitting at home with no warning!

“I have been through battles, torture, injuries, nearly killed. I spent _months_ with a large bounty on my head, being hunted, having to keep moving with little sleep or food. The only reason I survived all that was because I was _prepared_ . I knew my enemies, I knew how to survive, and I survived long enough to figure out what I needed in order to end it. You are the _first_ person to make me think that would be a bad thing, the first one who doesn’t seem to think that I would be able…” she trailed off, standing in frustration and walking towards the Impala.

Dean stood and followed her. He grabbed her arm, and she spun around to look at him. He could see tears building in her eyes. 

“I don’t doubt that you would be a force to be reckoned with if you were prepared. But _I’m_ not prepared. When you were standing there, being choked out by a ghost, something happened. I froze. I fumbled. I don’t do that, not even when Sammy is in danger. But with you it’s different. And it scares the hell out of me, because I was so damn scared of losing you…” He sighed, and reached up to touch her face. “I can’t protect you. And I can’t lose you. And the closer people are to me the more likely they end up dead. The only way I can think to protect you is to stay away from you, even though it’s the last thing I _want._ If there was any other way to protect you…”

She surprised him by lunging forward and catching his lips, but his surprise only lasted a moment before his hands found the sides of her face to hold her to him. His hands slid down her body, coming to rest on her hips as he pulled her into him. She snaked her arms around his neck and pressed herself even harder into him. Her knees became weak as she lost herself in them, and Dean reached around her to lift her up and wrap her legs around his hips. He stumbled twice as he maneuvered her to the hood of the Impala, but regained control without having to break their embrace. The car dipped slightly as he sat her down and immediately started to shrug out of his jacket. She broke their embrace long enough to pull her shirt over her head as he did the same. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders as his hands took a few exploratory sweeps of her body, savoring the feeling of her soft skin under his fingers. He slid his arms behind her to unclasp her bra and she moved her arms to pull it off and toss it to the side, then she looped her fingers in his belt loops to pull him closer. His hands found her breasts and he took his time running his hands over them, flicking a thumb across the peak and being rewarded with a moan and a tightening of her legs around his hips. His lips trailed from hers, across her cheek before heading down her neck, taking his time to savor each soft noise escaping her lips. Very carefully he put a hand on her back and leaned into her, lowering her down to the hood. He kissed along her collarbone before travelling down her chest toward her breasts. He paused just a moment as he looked at the mark that signified their bond, and he pressed his lips to it before moving to flick his tongue across her peak. She lifted her lips, rubbing herself against him.

“Don’t go getting impatient on me,” he chuckled, resting his chin on her chest and smirking up at her.

“You’re making it hard not to be,” she replied.

“I intend,” he replied softly, running his fingers down her stomach, “to take my time with you.” He punctuated his point by expertly unbuttoning her jeans. She bit her lip and let her head fall back as he returned his attention to her breasts. One of her hands ran up his back, her fingernails scraping up his spine and through his hair, causing him to tighten as a tingle ran across his skin. He had to force himself to move slowly as he kissed down her stomach, noticing several old scars he would have to ask her about when his brain might be able to process her response. His hands found her shoes and gave a gentle tug, and to his relief they easily slid off. Standing up he ran his hands up and down her legs as he took in the sight of her, lying across the hood of his car and looking up in anticipation, and realized it was one of his favorite sights ever. He could look at it forever, but that would mean not continuing, and that was just unacceptable. He reached forward, wrapping his hands in the waist of her jeans and knickers and pulling them down until he freed them from her. He took a knee as he placed them to one side, then knelt between her legs. She let off a soft gasp as he gently touched her with a finger, and her body seemed to tighten in anticipation. He added a second finger, circling her nub a couple times before gently parting her lips so he could lean forward and replace his fingers with his tongue. 

“Bloody hell,” she breathed, and he smiled. He took his time with her, moving his tongue slowly at first, speeding up, then slowing again as she became too impatient and started grinding herself against his tongue. He wanted nothing more than to give in to his desire to give her exactly what she wanted, but knew that taking his time would reward both him and Hermione. So he alternated, slow, then quick a few more times until she pleaded, “Please, Dean.” The sound of his name falling from her lips like that was enough for him, and he flicked his tongue against her as he felt her body coil, her legs trembling as she tightened them against his shoulders until she finally released with a strangled cry. 

He rose as she caught her breath, and when she looked up at him he unbuttoned his own pants and pushed them down enough to free himself. She looked at him hungrily as he resumed his place between her legs. He positioned himself at her opening and pushed slowly inside her as her eyes closed, her head fell back, and she let off a moan of his name. Once he was fully inside her he took a moment to appreciate the feeling. She felt so warm and welcoming that he wanted to keep living that moment as long as he could. He bent over as he started moving, sliding an arm behind her shoulders and lifting her up so he could kiss her. She started moving her hips against him, and he felt himself slide even deeper, and he let off a sound like a soft growl, bracing his other hand against the hood and reminding himself to take his time. Hermione’s arms snaked around him and she pulled down as she arched her body up against him so they were pressed together. He could feel her breasts pressing against him with every breath she took. The car let off a rhythmic creaking sound as his motions sped up. Her fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders and her breathing became shaky as he felt her begin to tighten around him, and it was only through his strength of will that he held off his release until he felt her come apart under him. He crashed his lips to hers as they both came down, wrapping his fingers in her wild curls and holding her to him until both their breathing returned to normal.

“You’re amazing,” he muttered, looking down into her eyes, which were alight as she smiled.

“As are you,” she replied before giving him another quick kiss. He pulled himself from her and stood up, pulling his boxers and jeans back up into place before reaching a hand towards her to help her sit up.

“We made a bit of a mess, didn’t we?” she smiled, looking at the clothes strewn around the ground.

“I’m not apologizing,” he said, bending down to pick up her jeans and knickers and handing them to her.

“I wasn’t asking you to,” she said, pulling her wand from her pocket and waving it around, summoning their clothes which landed on a pile on the Impala’s hood. As they dressed they had to pull stray bits of grass and hay from their clothes, but quickly they were dressed and Dean sat next to Hermione on the hood and she pressed herself to his side, resting her head against his shoulder. For a few minutes they looked at the sky, which had darkened considerably since they had left the fireside. Stars were starting to blink into vision and high overhead were the flashing lights of a passing airplane. They each knew there was a conversation they needed to have, but they silently decided to hold off and enjoy the moment.

“Think we should be getting back?” he finally asked.

“I suppose,” she sighed, sliding from the hood of the car. She waved her wand, extinguishing the fire, then once more to clean their mess. They climbed into the Impala and Dean started back towards the bunker, Hermione once again pressed against his side. After a few miles she fell asleep and he wrapped an arm around her and focused on the road to keep his thoughts from wandering. Hermione slept until they pulled into the bunker’s garage. He shook her to rouse her, and she reluctantly woke up and climbed out of the car. They walked hand in hand into the bunker, where their entrance drew the attention of Harry and Sam, who were engaged in a game of wizard’s chess in the war room.

“Welcome back,” Sam said, looking up, but immediately his smile disappeared. “Hermione, what happened?” he asked, standing up and hurrying towards her. He reached up and ran a finger over the line of bruises on her neck, studying it in concern.

“I just had a little run in with a ghost,” she replied.

“Forget to pack the bruise paste?” Harry asked, waving his wand to conjure some.

“I had a lot on my mind,” she replied, pulling her hair back and lifting her head so he could rub some around her neck. The bruises immediately started to lighten and Sam visibly relaxed.

“If you’re done taking care of her, mom, I think she needs to get some sleep,” Dean said.

“That I do,” she replied. “Hunting is exhausting business.”

“No need to tell us twice,” he said, going to drop her hand, but she tightened her grip.

“Come along, Dean. Good night, Sam, good night, Harry,” Hermione said, starting to lead Dean towards the dorms. Dean looked back and saw Sam with a knowing smirk. He smiled and shrugged before letting Hermione lead him to her room.


	6. That Which He Hath Brought Together...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we have come to the end of this tale. I have a few ideas for an epilogue but ran out of time to get them down. 
> 
> Many, many, MANY thanks to:  
> -Jocillyria for beta-ing this through a crazy schedule  
> -DarkAngelofSorrowReturns for the FABULOUS artwork  
> -The admins over at Hermione's Haven for putting on the Big Bang  
> -And, of course, you all for reading this!

Dean woke up the next morning with a face full of hair. Fighting his urge to blow it away he maneuvered up onto one elbow. Hermione was still fast asleep, that satisfied, worry-free look he had seen on her face the morning he saw her with Sam on her face. The paste Harry had applied to her neck had worked, he really had to look to find the faint yellow line that was all that was left of the bruises. In sleep she really did look as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

_ I could get used to this _ , he thought, and for the first time since he had found out about his soulmate he had no desire to keep her away.

Very gently he bent to give a light kiss to her forehead. She stirred slightly, eyelids fluttering as if she were deciding whether or not to wake as she inhaled deeply, before her body relaxed and her breathing evened. Carefully Dean got dressed and left the room, closing the door as quietly as possible behind him. He went to the kitchen thinking of making breakfast, but finding Sam there with a stack of pancakes. The brothers shared a knowing glance and Sam smirked. Dean looked at his brother for a long moment, trying to sort his feelings. He had expected to be somewhat jealous of Sam, knowing that part of Hermione's heart would always belong to his brother, but instead he felt at ease. If there was anyone he could share a soulmate with it would be Sam, since Sam was the only person on the planet whose happiness mattered as much, if not more, than his own. Jealousy may still come, Hermione was not going to be able to spend all her time with him and would leave his bed for Sam's and that's when Dean might feel a bit left behind, but the jealousy would be minor. Hermione didn't seem the type to have favorites, and while she would spend time with Sam, Dean was sure she'd spend time with him as well. For the first time in a while Dean allowed himself a bit of hope about the future, though he had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that the happiness would be short lived.

It was an hour later when Harry and Hermione emerged in search of breakfast. Sam and Dean seemed to wordlessly agree that the friends might need to discuss what had happened the night before without prying ears, so they started heading towards the library where they might be able to talk without threat of Hermione and Harry walking in unannounced. But they found that the library was already occupied.

“Cas!” Dean sharply chastised upon finding the angel standing in the middle of the room. “Did you forget how to use your phone? How many times do we have to discuss giving us a warning?”

“Where is she?” Castiel ignored Dean, eyes scanning behind them expectantly. “Is she here?”

“She's in the kitchen,” Sam replied, but Dean's brow furrowed.

“Shouldn't you know?” he asked, confused.

“I should, but I can't,” Cas replied shortly, pushing past the brothers and starting towards the kitchen.

“What do you mean, 'can't'?” Dean asked, grabbing his arm to stop him.

“She's hidden from me,” Cas growled, tugging his arm back and again striding into the war room.

“Cas!” Dean snapped loudly, stopping the angel in his tracks.

“What do you mean 'hidden'?” Sam asked at the same time.

“I should have known when you mentioned you have a soulmate. I should have been able to feel her then. But I couldn't. And I still can't.”

“Is everything alright in here? I heard shouting,” Hermione hurried into the room, Harry on her heels. She stopped dead when she saw Castiel, a look of confusion crossing her face.

“It's alright,” Sam assured her. “This is Castiel, he's a friend. And an angel.”

“And his manners sometimes leave a bit to be desired,” Dean added. “Cas, this is Hermione.”

“Oh,” Hermione murmured nervously. “Well, then, how do you?” she asked, holding a hand out, but Castiel seemed to be studying her and did not notice her greeting.

“She has Enochian symbols on her ribs,” Castiel muttered, eyes narrowing as he stared at Hermione's chest.

“I have what?” Hermione crossed her arms over herself as she looked between Sam and Dean, who both suddenly looked concerned.

“Enochian symbols,” Sam repeated. “Angelic writing. We have the same things on our ribs, it keeps us from being tracked by Angels. But why would she have Enochian symbols? Did she get them when the soulmate charm was cast?”

“No,” Castiel stepped forward, still studying Hermione. “Hers are slightly different.”

“Different how?” Dean demanded.

“I didn’t think it possible, but the proof is right here. Hers protect from every angel but one,” he muttered, touching Hermione's chest as his brow furrowed.

“Which one?” he asked.

“The one who needs to find her when she's in danger,” a voice sounded from above, and they all looked up to see a figure standing just inside the heavy door.

“ _ Richard? _ ” Hermione gasped.

“Hey, Hermione,” the figure smiled warmly as he started down the stairs.

“Richard? Who the hell is Richard?” Dean demanded. “That's Gabriel.”

“Gabriel?” Hermione looked confused. “No, that's my ex-boyfriend, Richard. He's the one I told you about who disappeared a few years ago.”

“Ex-boyfriend?” Dean snapped, turning back to Gabriel. “You son of a bitch!” he growled, striding towards the angel.

“Calm down, there, Dean-o,” Gabriel sighed, holding up a hand and stopping Dean in his tracks.

“What is going on?” Hermione demanded loudly.

“Let me explain...” Gabriel started coming towards her with arms out, but her eyes narrowed and when he got close enough she slapped him hard enough that he took a step back.

Harry winced. Sam and Dean exchanged an impressed look. Hermione’s hand quickly turned red and angry looking, but she didn’t seem to notice as fire flashed behind her eyes and her whole body seemed to swell in anger.

“This better be a bloody good explanation!” she hissed between clenched teeth. “Mind you, I'm not sure if I can keep from hexing you.”

“Easy, there, Lioness...” Gabriel said soothingly.

“Don't,” she snapped. “You left. The day after I confessed my feelings. You have no right to show up back here, especially during all this.”

“I know,” he nodded, cautiously reaching out to wipe a tear that was falling down her cheek. “But you do deserve to know the truth, which is why I'm here.”

“It better be a damn good explanation,” Dean growled.

Gabriel sighed and looked over his shoulder at him. “Just shut up and listen for once,” he ordered Dean, who balled his hands into fists but didn't move. Gabriel turned back towards Hermione and looked her in the eye. “They are right. I am an angel called Gabriel.”

“An archangel,” Sam added, irritation thick in his voice.

Hermione bit her lip, looking very confused.

Gabriel gave her an apologetic smile before continuing. “A very long time ago God saw that things between Michael and Lucifer might end... in apocalyptic fashion. So he decided to install somewhat of a celestial kill switch. I'm assuming you know what it means when two magical beings are soulmates?”

“They can enhance each other's power,” Hermione replied softly. “Draw from each other in a way that doesn't drain the partner and become stronger in the process. It's very rare for a magical person to have a true soulmate, maybe a dozen or so have been recorded in history.”

He smiled at her. “You always have the answer, don't you, Lioness? Yes, they can enhance each other's power. Did you ever wonder why, if magical soulmates can enhance their power, that you got two non-magical soulmates?”

“Of course I have,” she replied.

“Have they told you that they're Michael and Lucifer's vessels?”

“Sam mentioned being Lucifer's, but Dean hadn't mentioned Michael.”

“So, you having two non magical soulmates is kind of a bust, right? But what if your soulmates are suddenly occupying the same real estate as two archangels? Suddenly you're enhanced by something much more than just two denim-clad chuckleheads.”

“I don't understand,” she whispered.

“Yes, you do,” he looked at her pointedly. “You just don't think it's possible. The thought of having your power enhanced by two archangels is a bit overwhelming.”

“How could I possibly believe that?” she asked, biting her lip. “I don't think it's possible for anyone to have that kind of power in them without being torn to bits.”

“For most people it would, but you, like the true angel vessels, are made of stronger stuff. I can't promise that you'd come out of it unscathed, but you would be able to hold that power,” he assured her.

“Why me? Why now?”

“In time,” he promised. “You need to know it all to understand. God didn't tell anyone but me about his little plan. He told me there would come a time when the soulmate of Michael and Lucifer's vessels would be born, and I would know. And I did. I could feel you come into existence. And my father tasked me with keeping watch over you, but keeping your link a secret.”

“So, if she were in danger you were supposed to go save her? Kind of like prophets are supposed to get archangel protection?” Sam asked.

Gabriel nodded, but he turned back to speak to Hermione. “Prophets did before they locked Michael away. By the time you came into existence I was in hiding, and I wasn't keen to expose myself to keep you safe. I decided the best course of action was to keep you away from your soulmates. With the angels and demons trying to jump start the apocalypse I knew the best way to keep you safe was to keep you away from your soulmates and keep the knowledge of your abilities or future abilities away from Heaven and Hell. I knew Michael's vessel had been born a few months earlier in the United States, so I thought as long as I kept you away from there you would be protected.”

“And the world would suffer the apocalypse,” Dean spat.

“In case you don't remember, I didn't really care much about that,” he shot over his shoulder.

“And you didn't really care much about her, since you let her get tortured and nearly killed a few times,” Sam snapped.

“I was watching,” he confessed, and he looked apologetically back at Hermione. “While you were at the Ministry, while you were in battle. Even when Bellatrix had you I was looking in the window. I know this sounds like a lie, but I was just about to intervene when that elf thing came in.”

“Why didn't you?” Hermione asked softly, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Why did you let her do that to me?”

“I can't say it wasn't partially my own selfishness, because it was,” he replied. “If I went in there to save you I would have used enough of my power that I would have exposed myself. Heaven would know where I am, and they'd come looking for me. I had spent a few thousand years avoiding them, so I wasn't keen on seeing any of my family again. And then they would have asked questions about why I was protecting you. So part of it was to keep you from them. I would have no good reason to explain why I took out a room full of magical beings to protect you. And I'm sure you would have had questions, too, and it really wasn't a good time for you to be discovering the truth about angels and all that, considering you were still fighting a war. And that's not even touching how unhinged Voldemort would have become if I wiped out most of his inner circle.”

“And so you let her be tortured?” Dean hissed, Castiel grabbing his arm to keep him from coming at Gabriel. “You let her have lifelong side effects and nightmares because you didn't want to deal with the other asshole angels?”

Hermione's head had fallen so she was looking at the ground. Gabriel sighed and continued softly, “I'm not going to lie. At the time I didn't give a damn about her. I didn't  _ want _ to protect her, but I was bound by my father to do so. So I did it on my terms. I shouldn't have, I should have stepped in the moment she was captured, but I held off because it was in my best interest to do so. I'm not going to pretend like I really cared about her at that point because I didn't.”

“So what changed?” Sam asked.

“When Dean broke the first seal I knew things were only a matter of time. And I knew I was going to be faced with a choice. Because I was in charge of protecting the person who could put a stop to all of it, but I don't think my father had thought that Heaven would be actively trying to jump start the apocalypse. Hermione is supposed to be the last resort, the last card Heaven could play to protect the humans that Dad loved so much. I still had access to what you guys call 'angel radio', I knew what was going on with the angels. I also know that you two,” he shot a look at Sam and Dean, “have an uncanny ability to make a bad mess worse, and I thought it was only a matter of time before you somehow found out about your soulmate. I also knew if one of you caved and said yes that she would feel some effects, because she was your soulmate even before the marking spell was cast. So I decided I needed to get closer to her to keep a better eye on her. I posed as a guy in a bookshop and started talking to her.”

“A guy in a bookshop?” Sam scoffed.

“If you want to get Dean's attention you involve a pair of double-Ds, and if you want to get Hermione's attention you involve books,” he replied, annoyed.

“He came up to me asking where I had found a copy of a newly-released book,” Hermione spoke up, a hint of a smile on her face at the memory. “I told him that I had grabbed the last copy. We got to chatting a bit, well, we actually wound up talking for an hour until the shop was about to close. I offered him the book, and he told me to keep it, and said maybe we'd meet again when he came back the next week to see if they got another copy in.”

“That's when she surprised me,” Gabriel shot a smile at Hermione. “She asked me if I wanted to meet for lunch that Saturday and she'd give me the book then.”

“And because you're you, you took it as an invitation to not keep your hands to yourself,” Dean snarled.

“I did accept,” he snapped back, “but I only expected a good conversation. I spent the next four days mentally kicking myself for getting too close, but I was there on Saturday. You have to realize that I'm still tuned into angel radio throughout all this. I don't know everything, but I know enough that I was getting sick of it all. I don't know what I expected of our meeting, but I do know that I spent five hours that afternoon with one of the most charming, kind, and intriguing beings I have ever met. She was a breath of fresh air, I even forgot everything that was going on for a while.”

“And before you say it,  _ I  _ kissed  _ him _ first,” Hermione glared at Dean. “And when we had been seeing each other for a couple weeks I invited him in, so you can stop insinuating he took advantage of me or something. It was my choice.”

Dean glared at her, then Gabriel. “Was this before or after you made the DVD with the porn stars?” he asked Gabriel.

“You saw what I wanted you to see,” Gabriel snapped.

“If you were trying to protect her why did you keep telling us we were going to say yes and become vessels?” Sam asked.

“I needed you two yahoos to say yes before you, Michael, or Lucifer realized that there was a soulmate in play. The only way I could save  _ her _ was for you all to get along with it before she was pulled into it.”

“You encouraged...” Dean shouted, face becoming red with rage, “You were going to let the apocalypse happen because you didn't want to give up your girlfriend?”

“I was going to let the apocalypse happen because I was ready to burn it to the ground at that time,” he shouted back. “I was done. I had one good thing going for me, and the only way for me to stop the apocalypse was to give her to you and tell her she needed to figure out how to draw power from Lucifer and Michael and use it to either stop them or contain them and every other angel and demon that had been working for years to get that started. Dad told me she  _ could _ stop it, he never told me  _ how _ she might go about doing that. So to stop it I would have to bring her right into the middle of things and have her try to figure it out on the fly. The moment she came into play there would be dozens, if not hundreds, of angels and demons trying to kill her. So, yeah, I chose her over the rest of the world. And when I wasn't with her I was trying to find a way out of it that didn't involve her, which is how I found out about the rings and the cage. But don't tell me I was only thinking of myself or even of her, because I nearly broke. I spent months knowing that I shouldn't be keeping her, that I should be helping her fulfill the purpose my father gave her, to sacrifice what she and I had for the sake of the humanity that he had hoped to protect. And when Sam said yes to Lucifer I did break. I went to go take her, knowing that I would lose her, knowing that she would  _ hate _ me but still do the job because it's not in her nature not to help when she can. When I got to her I couldn't even say it, I couldn't bring myself to hurt her like that, and she  _ comforted  _ me. She was internally freaking out because she suddenly was feeling like her magic was out of control and that inside her there was a simmering, irrational rage because she suddenly had a dedicated line to Lucifer, but she still put me first. She stayed up all night listening to me rant about my family and soothing and doing her best to help and I lost the strength. I couldn't tell her that she had the fate of the world resting on her, that I was going to have to make her a marked woman, and that if she miraculously made it through all the angels and demons that would be trying to kill her she'd have to face down Michael and Lucifer wearing the meat suits of her two soulmates. And, yes, I couldn't give her to  _ you _ . So I put my faith in you, and that Hail Mary that you would somehow manage to get Michael and Lucifer into the cage and she would be none the wiser. And you did, and I was able to keep her for another year.”

Hermione sniffled softly and wiped her cheek with her sleeve as Harry held her against him. “If you were willing to risk the apocalypse for her why did you leave her?” Harry asked.

Gabriel sighed and looked at Hermione, who met his eyes for a second before biting her lip and looking away. “Do you remember what you said to me that night?” he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“That you were the first man I really saw a future with,” she replied in a murmur.

“Yes. But what else?”

She looked up, but it wasn't at Gabriel, but rather at Sam, and then Dean. “That I really didn't buy into the idea of having a soulmate, but that if I did you were the closest thing I thought I would get.”

“When you said those things I realized what I was doing to you. There was no future with me, even if we had stayed together you wouldn't get the family you were thinking. The whole foundation of our relationship was a lie, that I was just some random man you happened to run into, someone you could grow old with, someone who might give you the kind of future you thought you would have. You told me your secret, and I could never tell you mine. And then when you said that it reminded me that you do have a soulmate, that you have two. I can’t say it was purely altruistic, part of me didn’t handle the thought that you could never truly be mine well, especially when I remembered just who your soulmates were.”

“So what’s the point of all this?” Sam asked. “You kept it hidden this long,why tell us now? Is there something out there we don’t know about?”

“Nothing imminent,” Gabriel shook his head. “But Michael and Lucifer are still alive, as long as they are you three are always in danger of having to deal with the aftermath if they get out.”

“But… maybe that’s what I can help with,” Hermione said softly. “Finding a way to make sure they’re gone for good.”

“You would be looking for a solution, Lioness,” he smiled. “Precisely why I think you need to get out of here.”

“What?” Sam and Dean asked in unison.

“You can’t tell me you think what’s best for her is to be around  _ you _ , do you?” he raised an eyebrow. “You two are arguably the biggest threats she has ever faced.”

“That’s not fair!” Hermione protested. “They aren’t the danger…”

“They just attract it,” he interrupted. “I still have a job, and my job is making sure you’re safe. Which means…” he trailed off and snapped his fingers. Hermione, Sam, and Dean sucked in air in unison as a tingling sensation overtook them, but a second later it was gone.

“What was that?” Dean demanded.

“Your freedom, Dean-o. I took away that pesky little bind you were in.”

“You mean we… we’re not…” Hermione murmured, touching the mark still on her skin.

“That I can’t undo, Lioness. You’ve still got that, but I just made it so you can be with whoever you want, or, in Dean’s case, however many he wants.”

Hermione looked at Sam and Dean in confusion and surprise. Sam was shaking his head, but Dean looked conflicted.

“And now to get you away from danger,” Gabriel smirked, snapping again, and Hermione found herself and Harry standing in a fenced in backyard outside a modest house. It was dark outside, though there were a couple lights on in the house. Hermione immediately recognized it as her parents’ home in Australia.

“What the hell?” Harry asked loudly, but Hermione looked furious.

“Take me back,” she demanded.

“Absolutely not,” Gabriel replied. “I think you need some time away to think about all this. Say 24 hours. Which, coincidentally, is how long you’re not going to be able to use magic. You try to leave, I’ll bring you back here, and I’ll make that a little more permanent.”

“You bastard,” she growled.

“I’ll let that one slide, considering you’re a little upset…”

“Hermione? Harry? Richard?” a woman’s voice came from the door to the house, and Hermione tensed. “What are you doing here?”

“Just dropping in,” Gabriel smiled. “Good to see you, Jean, Harold,” he nodded to her parents. A teenage girl pushed out from behind them, a wide smile on her face.

“Richard!” she said, approaching him with her arms wide for a hug.

“Grace! No!” Hermione lunged for the girl, wrapping her arms around Grace’s chest and holding her back.

Gabriel scowled. “I would never hurt your family,” he said.

“Leave,” she replied firmly. 

“Lioness…”

“Leave, or take me back,” Hermione repeated, tears forming in her eyes.

There was the sound of flapping wings and Gabriel was gone. Hermione let go of Grace and took a few steps to a nearby chair to sink into it.

“What just happened?” Grace asked loudly.

Harry had already moved next to Hermione and was rubbing her back supportively. Hermione took a deep breath and swiped her eyes before looking up at her adopted sister. “You may want to sit,” she said, sounding exhausted. “This might take a while.”

Just then her phone began to ring. She dug it out of her pocket as Grace and Harold took a seat and Jean disappeared into the house.

“Hullo?” she answered, not bothering to look at the caller’s name. She already knew.

“Are you alright?” Sam’s concerned voice asked.

“Yes,” she replied, trying to sound as unconcerned as possible as to not worry him.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“He brought me to my parents in Australia. I’ll be okay but I can’t leave for at least 24 hours. He wants me to think about things away from everything for a bit.”

“Do you want us to try to come to you?” he asked, and she could hear Dean object in the background.

“No, I doubt he’ll let you, and by the time you get here I’ll be out of celestial time-out”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll come back to the bunker tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay,” he sounded as though he didn’t believe her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam,” she promised.

“See you tomorrow,” he replied, and they hung up. Hermione looked around at her family as Jean returned from the house with a bottle of wine and some plastic glasses. 

“I guess we’ve got a lot to talk about,” Hermione sighed, accepting a glass of wine before turning to Grace and starting to confess everything.

XXXXXXX

“Is she okay?” Dean demanded as Sam hung up and put his phone in his pocket.

“Yes. Gabriel took her to her parents in Australia, and told her she needs a day to think things over.”

“Smartest thing he’s ever done,” he replied grumpily, going into the library to pour himself a drink.

“What do you mean by that?” Sam asked, following him, Cas close on his heels.

“This is exactly what we wanted, isn’t it?” Dean shrugged. “We wanted to break the bond and we wanted Hermione to be safe. Well, we got both. I consider this a win.”

“Do you?” he asked skeptically.

“Absolutely,” he nodded confidently. “We don’t get some bullshit magical bond trying to force us to choose between sex and safety for the rest of our lives, and considering we still have  _ this _ ,” he jabbed out his left arm to show the mark, “I’m assuming she still has her mark, which means that she’s protected from Heaven and Hell, right, Cas?”

“Gabriel hasn’t removed any of his protections, and he is still bound to protect her. Even if someone finds her they’ll have to get through him,” Cas answered.

Dean spread his arms wide with a smile. “See? Win.”

Sam crossed his arms and shook his head. “I don’t believe you for a second.”

“Don’t need you to believe me. It’s still a win,” he shrugged.

“She really meant that little to you? She was just another in a long string of girls who got the privilege of spending the night with Dean Winchester?” he snapped.

“You know she wasn’t,” he replied, anger growing in his voice as he turned away and took a seat at one of the tables.

“Then how can you just dismiss her like that?” Sam asked, standing across the table from him.

“For her safety. The same thing I’ve been wanting since we found out we had a soulmate.”

“She’s safe. Cas just said…”

“That she’s safe from Heaven and Hell, and as long as she’s got an ocean between us that’s all I’m worried about getting to her. But the closer she is to us here the more likely she’s going to run into something…”

“Gabriel is bound to protect her, even if the threat isn't celestial,” Cas reminded him. 

“Anything she comes up against if it gets to be too much he’ll be there to fix it,” Sam said, challenging him to find another reason.

“So now my faith is in that son of a bitch?" he scoffed.

“He might be a son of a bitch but I don’t think he’s going to let Hermione get hurt.”

“You put too much trust in someone who hasn’t exactly proven himself trustworthy in the slightest up to this point. Or are we forgetting he let her be tortured while he watched because he's a self-serving douchebag?"

“That was before. He seems to really care for her now. I can’t imagine him letting her get hurt.”

“Until Michael and Lucifer find a way out of that cage. Do you think that son of a bitch can help her then?"

“If we’re going to ‘what if’ this to death we’re going to be here a while.”

“I just don’t seem to see a reason for me to put any faith in that asshole.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Are you.... jealous?” he asked.

“What the hell would I be jealous of? I don’t care what she says, he took advantage of her, and it’s not like they’re together again.”

“Are you afraid that’s going to be different now that she knows and we’re not bound?”

“As hard as she hit him? Not a chance.”

“Then what is it?” Sam pleaded.

Dean took a long drink before looking up at his brother. “There’s other ways to hurt a person, Sammy. What can we give her? A bunker in the middle of nowhere? A life of being hunted? It sure as hell can’t be a family, there’s a good chance that all she gets to look forward to in the future is being left alone in what? Five, maybe ten years? Do you know what Harry told me the other day? His professor was 150 when he died. 150. That’s not unheard of for witches and wizards. We’re going to be lucky if our combined ages at death hit 150. If we miraculously make it to die of old age years old we’re going to go and she’s going to be middle age. Do we really want to make it so she spends some of the best years of her life a widow or taking care of two old hunters?”

“Don’t you think she deserves a say here? Don’t you think she should have the choice?”

“I know what she would choose, Sammy. And you should be here when she gets back.”

Sam looked at Dean in surprise and lowered himself into the chair across from his brother. “Dean…” he started.

“I’m sorry I ever got you into this, Sammy,” Dean said, looking up at him. “This is your chance to get back out. Go back to school. Go make something of yourself. Have a family. Make her happy. But we both know I’m doing this until I’m gone, and that I’ve already pushed my luck on how long I’m going to survive this. I only want what’s best for you, and this is that.”

“You don’t think it could be what’s best for you, too?”

Dean shook his head and downed the rest of his drink. “You said you wanted her to have the choice. Well, this is my choice, Sammy,” he smiled sadly and stood. Without a word he walked through the room and towards the garage. A minute later came the unmistakable roar of the Impala’s engine coming to life, and a moment later the sound of the engine faded, leaving stunned silence.

XXXXXXX

Silence hung over the yard as Hermione finished her story. Her parents looked shocked and Grace looked at her as though it was the first time seeing her sister. 

“Oh, honey,” Jean sighed, standing up to take the spot next to Hermione that Harry quickly vacated. 

“Are you kidding me?” Grace said, her voice an octave higher than normal. “You really believe all this? Magic and angels and everything?”

“Poppet…” Harold reached toward her.

“It’s like I don’t even know you!” Grace shouted at Hermione before she stood and turned, rushing into the house. 

“I’ll go talk to her,” he stood, walking after her.

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione sighed. “I didn’t mean to cause all this drama. If I knew Gabriel was just going to drop me somewhere I would have asked to go home. I’m sure he brought me here so you could talk some sense into me.”

“Then he wasn’t paying attention when he was here,” Jean smiled. “We haven’t been able to get you to do something you don’t want to do since you were about seven.”

Hermione smiled and let her mother take her hand.

“You must really like these boys if you’re this upset about all this.”

“I honestly don’t know what to think right now. It is all so overwhelming.”

“Are you frightened?” she asked cautiously.

“Not as much as when I was first told,” she admitted.

“Rationalized it, did you?” Harry asked with a half smile.

“There’s a lot going on, but I have protection. At least, I have protection until Michael and Lucifer get out of the cage, at which point then I’ll have a lot to worry about. But there’s a good chance I’ll be dead before they ever get out, so there’s a chance that I’ll never really need to worry about that. I could start doing research…”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Harry interrupted. “I am no longer at Hogwarts, I demand a one-month minimum break between researching old, ancient spells or weird situational stuff.”

Hermione smiled. “I probably do need to do actual work before I throw myself into a big project.”

“I would be remiss in my motherly duties if I didn’t put up somewhat of an objection to you planning to head into the middle of the apocalypse, so consider this my objection,” Jean said before taking a sip of wine.

“I can’t just let an apocalypse happen, mum.”

“I will consider that being overruled on the matter. So, what of these two gentlemen? Do I call them my son-in-laws or…”

“Mum!” Hermione yelped. “I have known Sam and Dean less than a week, I’d hardly consider that long enough to consider anything legal.”

“Okay, so tell me what they are.”

“I don’t even know right now. It sounds like Sam will be there when I get back… I guess that depends on who won the fight. If Sam won he’ll be there, at least to talk. If Dean won he won’t be there at all.”

“I thought you two had worked it out,” Harry said.

“Dean and I....” Hermione started quickly, but stopped dead. Her cheeks flushed scarlet and she looked at her mom before biting her lip and looking away. “We didn’t do anything that might make us permanent. Dean was still quite insistent that I take Sam and leave him to keep going.”

“And what of Sam?” Jean asked.

“He’ll be there.”

“And then what?”

“I really don’t know,” she exhaled. “I barely know him, mum, but at the same time I feel like I’ve known him a long time. Seems a bit premature to be moving him in, but am I going to travel halfway across the world every time I want to see him? That seems a bit cumbersome. And maybe I misread him. Maybe he has the same feelings Dean has. Maybe I’ll go back to an empty bunker tomorrow and Gabriel will have a good laugh at me.”

“Bloody hell, I almost forgot about Rich… Gabriel. I had a bloody archangel staying under my roof.”

“You think it’s weird for you, mum? I was with him for two years.”

“We played poker with him.”

“I think I still win.”

“How old is he? It seems like it should be illegal somehow.”

“Mum!” Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop a smile.

Harold emerged from the house and pulled a chair closer to the group.

“How’s Grace?” Hermione asked.

“Upset that we left her out of the loop,” he replied. “A little overwhelmed with the scope of everything she learned tonight. Just wants to be left alone for a while to process everything.”

“Should I go talk to her?”

“Give her some time. So, did you get your girl talk about these gentlemen out of the way?”

“I’m glad you consider me one of the girls, Mr. Granger,” Harry smiled.

Hermione chuckled. “We haven’t really had time for the girl talk yet. We were just working through mum’s terrified realization that a heavenly being might have seen her home in a less than immaculate state.”

“I can’t believe that little prat is an angel,” Harold grumbled.

Jean let off a sharp laugh before covering her mouth and starting to silently chuckle.

“Are you okay love?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Remember, Hermione, when you first brought him here and your father tried to act all intimidating?”

Hermione laughed. “It was like watching a bloody police interrogation!”

“Remember what I said when we went to go make dinner?”

“That Richard did a brilliant job, and that he looked bemused by the whole thing.”

“He was lying,” Harold pointed out.

“Knowing what we know now I’m pretty sure he had good reason to,” Harry said.

They chuckled a few more moments and then fell into silence. 

“What do you need right now? More wine? Some time to think?” Jean asked.

“Just some time to think,” Hermione replied.

“You’ve got it. As you can see we were about to head to bed…”

“Go. I’ll knock if I need something.”

Hermione’s parents bid them goodnight and disappeared inside. Harry resumed his place next to Hermione.

“I just thought of something,” he said.

“What’s that?”

He smiled at her and replied, “Welcome to the Chosen One club. We should get t-shirts.”

She let off a chuckle. 

“Do you want me to stick around?”

“No. I think I just need to be alone for a while. You should probably go save Ginny.”

“I probably should. I’m probably going to need to find a place with a Floo.”

“I’m sorry. I have a book of magical places around the world in my bag, but that’s back at the bunker.”

“Don’t be sorry, none of this was your choice. I remember that inn in Sydney when we were here for a speaking engagement. They should have an open Floo. Should I be back tomorrow in case Gabriel lied and you can’t go anywhere tomorrow?”

“I’ll let you know if I need help.”

“We’re here for you,” he promised, standing and kissing her forehead before disappearing with a pop.

Hermione sighed and looked up at the stars, taking a few moments to appreciate their beauty before allowing her thoughts to overtake her.

When the sun started coming up she went inside and started making breakfast. Just as she set things on the table she heard someone coming into the room, and looked up to see Grace standing just inside the doorway.

“Good morning,” Hermione said cautiously. 

“Morning,” Grace replied with a tiny smile. “Smells good.”

“Help yourself,” she motioned to the food as she sat down. 

Grace sat but didn’t touch anything. “About last night…” she started softly.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t really fair to put all that on you in one go…”

“I’ve thought for a while that there was something going on, you and mum and dad have told me a lot of things that never quite added up, but I figured there was just some falling out you didn’t want to talk about. I’m not going to lie, you being a witch isn’t what I expected, but it does make sense now that I think about it.”

“I was going to tell you when you were a little older. I had wanted to kind of make it fun for you, bring you to some magical shops, maybe take you to a Quidditch game, so you could see it and it might be a good memory for us. I never expected to be in this position.”

“I really don’t think anyone would. Now that the shock is over I know why you kept it from me. But, yes, I probably would have handled it better without all the other stuff thrown in there. You really had no idea about Richard?”

“No clue. It’s not like he had wings or a halo or anything. And I always thought angels weren’t exactly interested in… certain physical activities.”

“That has to be really weird to think about now.”

“I honestly hadn’t even. Maybe I’m blocking it out.”

“Or maybe you’re thinking of those two soulmates of yours,” Grace replied with a smile.

“They have been on my mind a fair amount,” she admitted.

“Are they cute?”

Hermione laughed.

“We’re sisters, even with the age gap. I get to ask sisterly questions. So, are they cute?”

“Very,” she smiled. 

“Well, at least you got lucky with that. I want to see pictures when you go back. I’m assuming you’re going back."

“I am, though you might be too late with Dean. He wasn’t thrilled about all this to begin with, now that we’re not bound to each other anymore…”

“You’re still soulmates, aren’t you?” she asked, starting to take some food.

“Yes, and should the end of the world start happening I’ll probably see him again, but until then I can only hope Sam is still around.”

Grace smirked and took a bite of bacon.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“I love you, but emotions were never your strong suit. You’re very logical, so of course you’re looking at this logically.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“He can be noble or say he wants to go off and find someone he doesn’t have to share or whatever, but I really doubt that soulmates work like that. Otherwise what’s the point? Why bother having a soulmate if you can just ignore your connection like that?”

Hermione bit her lip and started fixing her plate. Grace was right, of course, but she was also right that Hermione hadn’t really thought of it like that. She checked her watch and started making a plan.

XXXXXXX

Sam sat alone in the library of the bunker, surrounded by books, his laptop open in front of him, but the knot in his stomach wouldn’t let him focus on anything else. The 24 hour mark had passed five minutes before, and thus far there was no sign of Hermione. A million possibilities went through his mind, and it was hard not to focus on the underlying thought that Hermione might be gone for good. He hadn’t slept since she left, spending his sleepless night trying to find something to occupy his time, but failing miserably. He tapped his phone against his knee. Should he call her? Should he call Dean? How long should he sit alone before he admitted defeat?

As he went to send Hermione a text a light appeared in the library, and a moment later Hermione landed, holding the book she used as a portkey.

“Hermione,” he stood moving towards her but stopping as she held a hand to her mouth.

“I hate long portkeys, they still make me sick,” she replied with a smile. After a few deep breaths she smiled and gave him a tight hug.

“Does this mean you’re back?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, looking up at him. 

He kissed her, relief coming over him as she responded enthusiastically. Their lips parted but they seemed loath to fully let go of each other, so they sat close enough to keep their hands linked.

“Dean isn’t here,” he told her.

“I’m not surprised,”she replied.

“You don’t sound disappointed.”

“I have an idea. Don’t worry about that, I’ll let you know if it works.”

He looked at her expectantly, but she didn’t clarify. “So, what now?” he asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” she sighed. “Rich… Gabriel really messed with my head. Before, when I thought this was just a matter of having two soulmates the biggest obstacle seemed like travel. Now… Do I prepare like there’s going to be an apocalypse? Do I just hope that cage holds? How much do I let these revelations dictate my life?”

“Seems like a lot, doesn’t it?” he nodded.

“I’m sure it’s not the first time that you have faced something like this.”

“We have faced a lot,” he conceded.

“What do you want, Sam?” she asked.

He thought for a moment, rubbing his thumb against hers. “Honestly?”

“I would hope you feel comfortable giving me the truth.”

“I’m torn. Part of me wants to run away with you, to start over away from all this. Just like Dean wants, what he’s trying to force me to do. But he’s my brother. He and I have been through so much together. It doesn’t seem fair for me to abandon him here. I know it’s not right. I can’t choose between the two of you.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t even know what to do. We’ve separated before, but… this seems different. Like he thinks that I’m safe, that I’ve got something I can escape to, so he’s going to disappear. Like he did when I went to college. He doesn’t know, but I tried to track him during that time. I’m not sure why, maybe I just wanted to be there if something bad happened. But if he doesn’t want to be found he won’t be. I know all his tricks, his aliases, so he’ll dump them and find new names and new ways to hide. We’ve gone off the grid before. I don’t doubt he’ll do it again. If I want him back my next hunting trip will be for my brother.”

She squeezed his hand supportively. “Would you believe me if I told you I think I have that under control?”

“I would believe that I think you have it under control, but Dean is known for throwing curveballs.”

“I guess we’ll just have to see if I’m as good as I think I am.”

XXXXXXX

A beam of sunlight came through the window and hit Dean in the face, waking him up. He stretched as much as the backseat of the Impala would allow and forced his aching body into a sitting position. He put the empty whiskey bottle that had fallen on the floorboard into a bag and tucked it away so he could dispose of it later. He needed water or coffee or something to drink, but that would have to wait a bit. He wasn’t quite ready to leave yet. Spending the night in the cemetery was a risk, someone might have come to kick him out when he was in no state to drive which would have been a guaranteed arrest, but he really had no idea where else to go. He had called Garth looking for a hunt to distract him, but Garth had everything he knew of covered, and nothing was close enough for him to offer an assist. So he drove for a while, starting west, before a thought entered his brain that would not leave him alone, so he made a u-turn and headed back east. He had actually circled the town a few times before heading to the cemetery well after dark, but by the time he got there he couldn’t bring himself to get out of the car and had even climbed over the front seat to sleep in the back.

Now that he was sober and out of excuses he climbed out of the car and approached his mom’s grave. He stood in front of it and just looked down for a while.

“Hey, mom,” he said softly, but he stopped. There were a million things he wanted to say to his mother at that moment. He wanted to tell her he finally got Sammy out, but that would require an apology for getting him back in. He wanted to tell her about Hermione, but what was the point? She was another brief flash of happiness in his life, now gone forever. What was it he really wanted to say? Why did he feel the need to come here of all places?

“You never wanted this,” he finally said. “You’d probably throttle dad for doing this to us. You gave up your family for us, and we are right back in the thick of it. But Sammy, Sammy’s getting out. He has a great girl. She’ll take care of him. Hermione is… she’s everything mom. Everything we… everything Sammy needs. He’ll do fine. I’ll do fine. I just need to find something to do. I am…” he trailed off, unsure of what his feelings really were.

Suddenly a silver streak landed in front of him and formed into an otter, which swam in a couple circles until it looked almost real. Then it stood on its back legs and opened its mouth and Hermione’s voice came out.

“Before anyone makes any rash decisions, I think we need to have a talk. Come home.”

A flash of anger came over him as the otter disappeared. How dare she try to bring him back into this! She should just leave well enough alone! But the anger quickly subsided. He had made a decision that affected both of them without talking to her. He had something he had wanted for a long time in his grasp and he turned tail and ran. It should not be more terrifying to talk to his soulmate than to walk into a vampire nest, but here he was, trying to come up with an excuse not to go back. But he knew the real reason he was afraid- if he went back it would be very hard for him to leave again.

“What do I do, Mom?” he muttered. If he left, would Hermione take the hint? Would Sam? Perhaps he was foolish thinking he could just run. But, then again, he had skills he’d acquired since he and Sam started hunting together. He had places he could even stash the Impala so he wasn’t driving something so conspicuous if he wanted to really disappear for a while. What if Hermione wanted to find him? How good was magic at tracking someone down? What if she didn’t want to find him? Sammy would want to find him, but he wondered if Hermione would actually help, or if she’d placate him for a while before convincing him that there was no finding him if he didn’t want to be found. Maybe Garth could keep tabs on them, Sam was too good at finding hunts for Dean to be certain he could escape him forever.

He sighed, and for a moment wished he had the presence of mind to bring something to leave with his mom, but he had nothing. He turned and climbed into the Impala, and drove to the exit of the cemetery. One way would take him back towards the bunker, back towards Hermione. The other would start his new life on the run from his brother and Hermione. He wished his hands would pick a direction on their own and save him the trouble, but they remained still and so did he, lost in thought.

XXXXXXX

Sam and Hermione had spent most of the morning pulling books on Heaven and Hell from the bunker’s library. Hermione wasn’t ready to commit to fully researching her current position, but she at least wanted to acquaint herself with the basics. They had a light lunch and sat down to research, though to that point everything she learned came straight from Sam himself. He seemed to have done a fair amount of research himself, but Dean had only been interested in solutions, so there was a fair amount of knowledge he had that he had been holding onto with no one to share. Hermione listened intently, occasionally jotting something she wanted to remember down. Sam was amazed at how she could take in information, no wonder she was a favorite of most of her Professors, she absorbed information like a sponge and her questions were always relevant and not repetitive. As she cracked open a book to give him a break, he had thoughts that maybe his course forward was more a consultant of sorts, someone for hunters to confer with who knew more than most. Someone who might be able to predict when monsters might appear…

A familiar sound filled the air, a sound he instantly recognized as the Impala pulling into the garage. He glanced at Hermione, who looked up but didn’t look at all surprised. He had not seen her go for her phone the whole time she was with him, so she must have contacted Dean before going back to the bunker. She marked her book and set it to one side, then folded her hands and waited. A minute later Dean came in and walked slowly to the library, stopping in the door. He hadn’t changed since the day before and looked worse for wear.

“You look like hell,” Sam said.

“I’m betting I slept just as well as you two,” Dean replied.

“Give us a few minutes?” Hermione asked, placing a hand on Sam’s arm.

He looked from her to his brother and nodded, then strode from the room towards the kitchen.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Are you? Gabriel didn’t give you any more trouble, did he?”

“No, once I told him to leave he didn’t come back.”

“Good,” he nodded.

She looked at him for a long moment, giving him the chance to speak first, but he stayed silent. “What do you want, Dean?”

“I’m torn,” he admitted. “Even if nothing is going to hurt you, that doesn’t mean it’s not going to cause you all sorts of trouble.”

“You act like I don’t attract trouble without your help. I picked the wrong best friend if I didn’t want any trouble,” she replied.

He gave her a half smile. “I don’t want you to feel obligated…”

“I don’t,” she interrupted firmly. “You and I might not have quite the same connection that Sam and I have, but we’ve only known each other a week, and we spent a lot of that trying to get away from each other, so it’s fair to say that there’s a lot of space to grow.”

He let off a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Taking our time. Seems like a smart way to go about it.”

“What do you say we try that and see how it goes, then?”

In response he closed the space between them, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her, pouring all his suppressed feelings into it until he felt if he kissed her any longer he might lose his head. When they parted he pressed his forehead to hers. 

“It scares me how much I want this so quickly,” he admitted.

“I know. But I guess that’s how this ‘soulmate’ thing works,” she replied. “We can take it one step at a time.”

“Sounds perfect,” he replied, kissing her again. This time when they finished he backed off slightly and let his body relax. “Where’s Sammy? I’m starving.”

She took a deep breath and could smell the faint scent of bacon cooking. “I think he might have anticipated that,” she replied.

“I don’t deserve either one of you,” he said, taking her hand and starting towards the kitchen.

“I would argue that, but you look too tired to fight.”

“That’s no lie. First food, then nap.”

They made it to the kitchen, where Sam had indeed anticipated Dean’s hunger and was making his brother a plate of bacon and eggs. They shared a knowing look and a smile. The future might be a mystery, but Hermione was sure that whatever they faced, they’d face it together.


End file.
